Game of Survival
by captnswilson
Summary: In the game of survival, you either win or you die. As the old faces come back and the old wounds reopen, the most important thing is to unite and defeat a common enemy. When the Wall falls and the Night King arrives, Winterfell is ready. Season 8.
1. Ready to fight

_Hi! I've never written anything related to Game of Thrones before so it's a challenge for me, the one I'm really enjoying. This is my version of season 8, how I would like to see it. Everything is possible when it comes to this show, so we'll see how accurate my predictions were when the show comes back. There will be 6 chapters, each for an episode of the show, maybe more if the chapters will have to be divided into 2 parts. English isn't my language but I'm trying to write the best I can. Reviews would be very appreciated so feel free to tell me what you think, if you agree with me or not, what are your predictions. This fic helps me survive the hiatus, may it help you as well. Enjoy!_

* * *

 ** _Ready to fight_**

Yara Greyjoy put her chained legs on the table. Pouring herself some ale, she watched her uncle walking stiffly around the room. If only she had her people there, or at least if she was certain that Euron's people would stand on her side... then she would not hesitate. She would throw herself on her uncle and suffocate him with her own hands or die, trying.

She had to admit that he didn't treat her badly. At least not as bad as the usual prisoners are treated. Her cell was equipped with a bed and several books. She was getting meals at regular hours, sometimes Euron would take her to his chamber, serve ale and boast his power. He talked about how one day he would stand by the queen's side and then nothing could threaten him.

Considering how long her patience may last before she would finally get upset and risk her life, Yara drank the entire content of the mug with one gulp.

Euron's cheerful laughter resounded in the castle as he sat beside her.

"Someone's got thirsty," he said, placing a hand on her leg and taking a sip of beer from the bottle. "You do not have to go back to the cell. If you are a good girl, I will let you stay here. Or you can sail with me."

"Sail where?"

"To Essos to bring the Golden Company."

"Interesting. Why don't you just kill me?"

"Well, we would miss all the fun."

"I know what's stopping you." Yara leaned towards him. She was neither afraid of death nor anything else that he could do to her. "You're keeping me alive for only one reason. You either want to marry me yourself or to one of your men. House Greyjoy must survive. To do so, descendants are needed."

"I always knew that you're the one with balls and a mind. Your brother hides behind his queen. You should have seen him in King's Landing a week ago."

Yara blinked in surprise and Euron laughed again, this time bitterly.

"Theon is alive?"

"Aye, Yara, this coward is safe and sound. For now, though. Winter has come and with it something more dangerous than dragons or Cersei Lannister. Here on the Iron Islands, we are safe. Perhaps you will like my company eventually."

"I'd rather eat my shit than accept your reign," Yara told him, angry and, at the same time, curious at what was able to scare her uncle.

"You have a hot temper. A true Greyjoy as I can see. I do not wonder why you bent the knee before the queen of fire. She's pretty hot." Euron leaned back on the chair, pulling another sip of beer. "I heard you have a thing for women."

"The cocks got boring," she snorted.

Euron laughed again, but his smile quickly froze at his lips when they heard a battle. The scream of people and the sound of a blade cutting through a human skin appeared not only from behind the door but also outside the castle.

It could have been her chance. Yara threw herself at her uncle, but the chain was restraining her movements. They both rolled to the floor, spilling beer. When Euron hit her face with his fist, she felt warm blood filling her mouth. Still, she clenched her fingers against his neck, spitting blood in his face.

The door opened violently. Yara looked up and gasped when she saw Theon Greyjoy battered and bruised, yet self-confident as never before. Using a moment of inattention, Euron caught her by the hair and hit her head on the edge of the table. The room swirled in front of her eyes as she slumped to the floor.

"Theon, stupid little Theon." Euron stood up, wiping the blood from his face. His voice was full of anger. "You are asking for death. I will be happy to fulfill your request, and then I will let my people, each one of them... I will let them fuck your sister. Only when she will not be able to move anymore, begging for mercy... then I might kill her."

Yara saw only the tangle of bodies as Euron and Theon jumped to each other's throats.

They left the room, fighting, and she heard them as they fell down the stairs. Her hair was wet from the blood, her legs in chains, but she had to be strong. She had to survive. She crawled to the door until she crossed the threshold of the chamber. People were fighting everywhere. Theon hadn't brought many men with him, the fool had come here to die. For her.

Someone grabbed her by the arm and with a single motion of the sword broke the chain. Yara came to the conclusion that it was one of the people who came to save her, but there was no time for questions and thanks. She did not even look in his face. Instead, she picked up the chain and ran down the stairs to find herself near the battle. Euron was sitting on Theon and beating his face so hard that Yara could not be sure if her brother was still breathing.

Euron said he would have killed her only if she begged for mercy. She did not have as much time to lose as he did. She threw the chain over his neck and started choking him. He stopped beating Theon, instead, he tried to break free of her embrace, struggling for breath.

"Good boy," she whispered into his ear.

In the end, he had nothing to fight for. Yara heard the sound of a breaking bone when she broke her uncle's neck. Euron's body fell on Theon. Yara helped her brother drove him off, glad that Theon, though wounded and covered in blood, was still alive.

When they stood up, Theon leaned on her arm, barely able to stay on his own feet.

"You're an idiot, Theon."

"That's how you're thanking me for coming here to rescue you?"

"We're gonna die here anyway."

It turned out, however, that it was not entirely true. With the death of Euron, the fighting ceased. People gathered around them, surprised and confused.

"Euron Greyjoy is dead," Theon said aloud. Looking at him, Yara realized she had regained her true brother. "Yara Greyjoy is the rightful Queen of the Iron Islands. Winter has come, and now more than ever we need a strong leader who will provide us with survival. This is our queen!"

When people, her people cheered for her, Yara breathed a sigh of relief. However, she knew that it was only one battle in the great war.

"Where's the Queen?" She asked her brother.

"Daenerys Targaryen and Jon Snow headed north."

"I see that I missed a lot. What about the iron throne?"

"The throne must wait. Now the houses must unite to defeat a common enemy." Yara remembered Euron's words and a glimpse of fear in his eyes. "What do you say, sister? What will we do?"

"We have two options. We can stay here like cowards and see how the action unfolds. Or we can gather all the strength and join the queen. Are you a coward, brother?"

Theon straightened up, letting go of her arm, although Yara knew it must have hurt him a lot. He looked at her proudly, filled with strength and hope.

"Not anymore. I'm Theon Greyjoy and I'm ready to fight."

She gave him a lopsided grin as she spoke, "Well then, our fight has just begun."

* * *

Sansa was running through the dark hall; her feet bare, her body covered only with a thin nightgown. It was cold, dark and damp. A fear seemed to creep under her skin, affecting all senses. She was afraid to turn around, see what was chasing her.

Suddenly she hit someone, colliding with their chest. They held her by the shoulders to prevent her from falling. Shivering, she raised her head.

"You should have died a long time ago," Joffrey said. Sansa felt his cold breath, his face looking the same as when he was poisoned with wine. A streamlet of foam left his mouth as he spoke. "You should have died with your father."

She wanted to scream, but she could not let out a voice. Feeling his sword passing through her chest, she lost control over her body. The tears streamed down her face, the pain took her breath away, yet she managed to notice that the sword he was holding, the sword that was meant to kill her... it was her father's Ice.

When Sansa looked up again, Joffrey turned into Ramsay, his fingers pressing the hilt. Darkness absorbed the hall, took the sword and Ramsay away, but even in the dark, being alone among the never-ending emptiness, Sansa heard his laughter. And then she heard dogs barking, the sound of a human body being torn and she woke up.

Her room was cold, a fire in the fireplace had long dimmed. Sansa rose slowly to her sitting position, her sweaty hair stuck to her face. Her body was wet and aching, but when she looked at her shirt, she could not see blood there. It had been just a dream.

As if this day did not start badly enough, at breakfast she learned that some news had arrived.

"From Castle Black, Lady Stark," Maester Wolkan told her.

Sansa was staring at a scrap of paper in her hands for a long moment, then finally she dared look at her siblings.

"The Great Wall has fallen," she informed them. "The lord commander of the Night's Watch, Eddison Tollett says that Tormund and a few of his people survived and are now heading to Winterfell. So is the Night King."

"The long night begins," Bran whispered. His voice was cold and calm.

"We must send a raven to Jon," Arya said. "Does anyone know how long it can take him to get here?"

"From what we know, Daenerys Targaryen and King Jon left the Dragonstone a few days ago and are now heading north to White Harbor," Maester Wolkan answered. "I am afraid that it will take more time for the ships to travel than for the army of the dead to reach the Winterfell."

Samwell Tarly got up from the table, wiping his sweaty hands against his robe. Until now, he had never said a word and Sansa had almost forgotten his presence. Now he looked at her.

"If you don't mind, Lady Stark, I would like to say something." When Sansa nodded, Sam continued, "We all expect that White Walkers will attack Winterfell, which is very possible. After all, Winterfell is located alongside the Kingsroad. But before that, the first two castles in their path are Last Heart and Karhold."

"They will fall first. Jon said the same thing when he was here."

"It's a little consolation, but with these attacks, Winterfell will get more time to prepare."

"And the Night King will get more wights," Bran added.

"I don't think they necessarily need more people to join the army. There is something I have not told you yet." Sansa crumpled the paper in her hand. "They have a dragon."

The silence that had reigned in the room overwhelmed them all. Sansa looked at the food, wondering if it was one of her last meals.

"But how?" It was Arya who broke the silence.

"The queen must have lost the dragon during the battle. Jon informed us about the battle, but he did not mention the dragon."

"Now everything becomes logical," Sam said, fear crossing his face. "The White Walkers had waited a long time before they dared to attack. However, when they gained a strong ally in the form of a dragon, they did not wait any longer. In fact, they destroyed the wall immediately. As if-"

"-they knew the dragon would join them," Bran finished.

Sansa felt a sudden fatigue. She could not stay here anymore, a fresh air was what she needed.

"Maester Wolkan," she ordered, "send a raven to Jon. Then inform the lords that I wish to see them this afternoon. The war is coming and we need as many men as possible."

To stop thinking about it for a moment, Sansa got up from the table. For a long time, she was strolling the castle until she stopped at the same place where she had stood with Littlefinger some time ago, watching Arya and Brienne's fight. She remembered how concerned she had been about her sister's behavior, wondering if she would end up as her enemy. At the same time, a real enemy had been standing beside her.

And now he was gone.

Sansa saw Ghost in the courtyard. He had been probably waiting for his master's return. She had been waiting too. She liked being Lady of Winterfell, but she missed Jon. With him, everything was much easier and less scary.

"Nymeria, Lady, Grey Wind, Summer, and Shaggydog should be there as well."

Arya's voice surprised her. Sansa did not hear when she came, though it was the right time for her to get used to it. Arya was now quick as a snake and quiet as a shadow.

"Yes," Sansa admitted when Arya took a step closer. "They should."

The thought of Lady hurt her. It felt as if she scratched the wound that had healed long ago.

"I watched Grey Wind die. He was in a cage so he couldn't escape, he couldn't save Robb." Arya said, her voice was quiet and sad. She stared at Ghost. "Bran told me that Summer had died to save him. What about Shaggydog?"

"Ramsay Bolton killed him before killing Rickon."

"And Lady... I'm sorry, Sansa. It was my fault."

Back then, in her mind, Arya had been the right person to blame. But not now. Sansa looked at her sister and under the mask of an unquestionable warrior, she saw a young girl who asked the king to save Lady's life. The same girl who had to throw stones at Nymeria to drive her away, thus saving her life.

"No." Sansa's voice was gentle but unhesitating. "It was Joffrey's fault."

She considered whether to tell Arya about the dreams she had been having, about the ghosts of her past haunting her in the night.

"I met Nymeria on my way to Winterfell. She has a pack now, you know. I asked her to come with me, to come back home. I guess she has a different home now."

When they both looked at the courtyard, there was no trace of Ghost.

"Thank you. For telling me this. I know that talking about what has happened to you in the past few years is not easy. For me, it is not easy either."

Arya smiled at her and after a moment Sansa did the same. They were standing there for a long time in silence, breathing in the cold air and waiting for what was inevitable.

* * *

"Let me guess. Cersei sent you to find me and bring me home."

"Aye, you're right about that."

"For bringing me back, she promised you a castle, gold, and whores."

"Not whores, but a beauty for me to marry."

"She also threatened that you better not come back without me."

Bronn licked his fingers and sipped a large portion of beer. Jaime felt his pouch was much lighter than when he had been leaving King's Landing. One more visit to the inn with Bronn wouldn't end well for Jaime.

Some time ago, he could just say he would pay the next time. After all, the Lannisters always pay their debts. Now the situation was completely different. Jaimie did not want anyone to recognize him. He had been traveling for a few days and rarely had visited any tavernas, afraid that someone would recognize him. He usually lowered his head, kept his false hand under the table, and avoided eye contact with people.

When Bronn sat down in front of him and ordered a large portion of food and beer, Jaime was not even surprised. Although he would not admit it aloud, he was pleased with the accompany of his friend.

"You know her best. I wonder if it's because you're twins or because you fucked her."

"Give up, Bronn," Jaime snapped. "I'm not coming back."

"I know," Bronn admitted, tapping his fingers on the table. "I'm not an idiot. You are, ser Jaime, you are a stubborn idiot. You know that Starks and the dragon queen are not quite fond of you. Why would they be? You killed the Mad King and, as rumors say, you pushed the little Stark out of the tower. I can bet my ass that your head will hang on one of the Winterfell towers before the fight with the dead army begins."

Jaime was angry at Bronn for being right. He often thought of it himself. He knew that the trip to Winterfell would most likely end for him in a tragic way. That he would either get killed by vengeful kids or die in a battle. His only hope in convincing Daenerys Targaryen about his sincerity was Tyrion... and Brienne.

He thought about Brienne a lot. In fact, it was thanks to her that he took the courage to leave Cersei. He had to live to the moment when he would get a chance to thank her.

"Perhaps all you're saying is right." Jaime looked at Bronn. "Nevertheless, I do not intend to return. Cersei is no longer in control of me."

Bronn sighed.

"So I guess I have no choice and I have to go with you. May the Targaryen girl pay me well."

"Are you sure?"

"Man, I cannot go back to the Queen. And even if I could, I cannot sit quietly on my butt and wait until my stupid Lannister friends are killed and then resurrected. Your corpses would come back for me and kill me in my sleep. No way."

Jaime smiled for the first time in weeks, breathing with relief. He was no longer alone.

* * *

She slipped her hands into his hair and kissed him firmly, once more that day, allowing his hands to slide slowly over her naked body. If the north had a taste, it tasted like Jon's sweet lips. If the north had a scent, it smelled like Jon when Dany felt him inside of her.

"We've reached White Harbor, your Grace." Tyrion's voice came from behind the door.

Jon brushed back a loose strand of her hair, never taking his eyes off her.

"I believe we should go," she whispered.

"We should."

And then he kissed her again as if he wanted her to remember his touch in a time when they would have to keep a decent distance between each other.

Shortly after, Ser Wylis, the son of Lord Manderly, took them to the main castle of White Harbor. Everyone took a seat at the long table; both Daenerys' people and those who joined them in King's Landing. When food and drink were served, alarming news came out.

"They have Viserion," Dany said, unable to believe what she had just read. "How is it possible?"

"Somehow they managed to pull him out of the water and then transform into one of them." Jon seemed concerned, but it was not the dragon that caused his anxiety. "I've stood on the Wall repeatedly. I've never thought it would be possible for anyone to destroy it."

"Not anyone, but a dragon," Tyrion stressed.

"How much time has passed since the fall of the Wall?" ser Davos asked.

"Over a week, I'm afraid. Winterfell is preparing for the battle," Jon said. "We must march for Winterfell as soon as we can, your Grace."

"Of course," Dany conceded, "but first we'll stay here for one day to get some rest. Thank you for your hospitality, ser Wylis."

"The pleasure is all mine, your Grace," he bowed to her.

"There is one more thing you can do to help us. The Unsullied are not properly prepared for the winter. Shall you supply my people with appropriate clothes?"

"I'll see what I can do."

Ser Wylis and Grey Worm left the room. After a meal others also left, with her permission, until only Dany and Tyrion stayed in the room.

"Would you mind, your Grace, if I expressed my opinion?"

Tyrion put his legs on the second chair and took a sip of wine. Dany came to the window, from where she had a view of her children.

"Whether I want it or not, you always express your opinion, so feel free."

"Northmen are the people whose trust is hard to gain. I do not think they will look at you favorably when they find out about your romance with their leader."

"I've said it already," Dany drawled. "I'm not heading north to conquer. I'm heading north to save lives. They don't have to trust me, they have to fight by my side."

"To do so, they must be sure that Jon bent the knee because he believed in you, not because he fell in love with you. Love makes you capable of everything."

A note of melancholy crept into his voice. Dany looked at him intently.

"Have you ever been in love?"

"Twice. The first time my lover turned out to be a whore hired by my father. The second woman was also a whore. She testified against me when I was sentenced to death. I killed her while she was lying in my father's bed just before I killed him too."

"Oh," she sighed. "Loves makes you capable of everything, yes. That's why I think Jon's love can actually make me stronger."

"Or be the death of you."

"Enough." She turned back to the window. Her voice was as sharp as a razor. "I respect your opinion, Tyrion. I have named you my Hand not without a reason, but as for my love life, I would rather have your thoughts left for you. You do not want my fire to be the death of you, do you?"

Dany understood his fear. Not only her feelings towards Jon were growing, but also the way of his thinking was slowly affecting her actions. Tyrion feared that Jon could become important enough for her that Tyrion's advice would cease to matter to her.

"What about Viserion?" Dany heard a note of resentment in his voice when he got up from his chair. At least he abandoned Jon's subject. For now. "He is your opponent now. I must know that when the time comes, you will not hesitate. That you will be able to kill your own dragon... your child."

The image of Viserion falling to the cold lake was still in her head. When she closed her eyes, she saw him again. Whirling wings in the air, the spear in his neck. She heard a screech of agony that mingled with his brothers' cries, then the splash of water and her heart broke once more.

He still breathes fire, she thought, but it is blue in color. My children's fire isn't blue.

Not the first time she had found strength in the deepest recesses of her heart. The world had repeatedly tried to destroy her, but it had never succeeded. When she turned to Tyrion, he stepped back as if he saw in her eyes the fire that was flowing in her veins. As if he read from her face not only the pain but also the power caused by it.

"When the time comes, I'll be ready."


	2. The Truth

**_The truth_**

Tormund Giantsbane and Beric Dondarrion were talking about how the Wall had fallen. The table was full of food, but besides the newly arrived guests, no one else had touched anything.

"To be honest, I'm surprised we're still alive," Dondarrion said.

"Aye," Tormund waved the chicken leg in his hand, "everything fucked up but we managed to get to Castle Black."

Arya carefully watched her sister, who was sitting stiffly with her hands clasped on the table. Untouched food was laying before her.

"On the way to Winterfell, have you seen the army of the dead?" Sansa asked.

"No, my Lady," Dondarrion answered.

Everyone started to express their opinions on this subject, but Arya was not interested in them. She felt extremely lost and did not know how to start a conversation with a boy who was sitting next to her. Actually, he was no longer a boy but a man. She looked at him, wondering if he still cared about her.

Ever since they last had seen each other, many changes had taken place in her life. She had changed. She had become a vengeful murderer, so she wouldn't be surprised if he didn't want to have anything to do with her. She wouldn't blame him for that.

"You're shaking," Arya muttered, low enough so Sansa did not hear.

That was true. Even though the table was filled with hot brews and biscuits, Gendry didn't reach for anything that could warm him up.

"I am cold," he explained.

"Tell me something I don't know. There are a lot of hot drinks here. They will help."

"I don't want anything."

Steered by sudden concern, Arya put a hand to his forehead. It was warm.

"You have a cold. Come with me."

Ignoring Sansa's questioning look, Arya headed to the exit. Gendry followed her. She led him down the corridors to her room. There she laid blankets by the fireplace and told him to sit down.

"Southerner," she sneered. "Wait here. Do not move!"

She left him for a while and went to the kitchen where she got a cup of hot chocolate, herbal infusion, and a few cookies. When she returned, Gendry was sitting with his hands outstretched toward the fire. He wasn't shaking as much anymore, but he didn't look good. His hair stuck to his forehead, his nose slightly flushed.

"I know you don't want to, but you must drink it." She gave him an infusion, taking a seat next to him. "If you do, you will get a cup of chocolate. Otherwise, I'll drink it."

"What about cookies?" Gendry smiled.

"They are for me. Perhaps I'll let you eat one. Perhaps."

Arya took a bite of a cookie while watching Gendry drink the brew. He winced, the color drained out of his face. It made her giggle. In her childhood, lady mother had always told her to drink it when she had felt bad. The infusion was made of many plants whose names Arya did not even know, but it was always abundant in the kitchen.

At the thought of her mother, she felt lost again.

"Done." Gendry set the empty mug on the table. "I probably look stupid. Cold, while winter has just begun."

"I don't judge you. I've heard what you did. If not for you, Jon wouldn't be alive now," she said quietly, her gaze stuck in the flames raging in the fireplace. "It's such a pity that I didn't get a chance to see you a bit earlier."

She handed him the hot chocolate which Gendry took with a smile on his lips.

"Thank you, my Lady."

"I'm not a lady." Despite the warmth in the room, she felt all cold inside. "Don't call me that, Gendry. I'm still Arya."

"You don't look like the girl I knew. I mean no offense, I just don't feel worthy of calling you by your name."

Tears filled her eyes, but she did not allow them to fall down.

"I sometimes wonder what would have happened if I stayed with you back then," Gendry whispered. Arya looked at him in surprise. "The Brotherhood turned me over to Melisandre in exchange for two bags of gold. This crazy woman leeched my blood for a ritual. I believe she intended to kill me later, but for my luck, ser Davos saved me."

"Why did she need your blood?"

"Some dark magic I suppose. My... Arya, I'm Robert Baratheon's son. Bastard son."

Her jaw dropped and she was staring at Gendry for a moment as if he had said that he was the Night King, and offered her to join the army of the dead. Then recognition dawned on her face and everything finally made sense.

"That's why... Oh. Now I understand."

"Our paths should have never been separated."

"I appreciate your words, but I don't regret anything. My life was complicated and difficult, but it all had to happen. Ultimately, we have found our way back to each other."

Without a trace of shame, Arya covered herself with a blanket and laid her head on his shoulder. She could feel the heat flowing from his body. Gendry took one of the cookies and sent her a delicate smile, which she immediately reciprocated.

"To be honest, I thought you would arrive here with Jon," she told him.

"This was originally a plan, but I decided to stay on the wall to help arm Castle Black, though I didn't do much. You haven't seen it, you haven't seen a blue dragon... It was scary, and now it's heading to Winterfell, to us."

"Don't worry," she said ardently. "I will protect you."

Gendry turned to look at her with amusement.

"I can protect myself, Arya," he assured her. "I have learned much in recent years."

"So have I. Well then, we will protect each other. That's what family does."

For a moment they looked at each other in silence, then she put her head back on his shoulder. She was staring at the flames for a long time.

"Gendry, are you feeling better?"

Arya gave a long, weary sigh.

"Aye. Much better."

She fell asleep in his arms, with crumbs of cookies on the blanket and warmth all over her body.

* * *

"Any news?"

"Nothing good, your Grace. The lord commander of the Night's Watch says that the Great Wall has fallen," Qyburn told her.

"Is it possible?"

"I'm afraid it is. The army of the dead consists of thousands of the same creatures as the one I'm currently examining. Moreover, they also have one of the dragons on their side."

A small smile appeared on Cersei's face, but Qyburn was not able to see it. She was turned to the window, staring at the snow falling outside the castle.

"The bitch lost her dragon," she said. "Perhaps there is some justice in this world."

"I don't understand how it can be good, your Grace. With the dragon on their side, the wights are too powerful. They managed to destroy the Wall. Who knows what else they can do."

"It will be our concern if they manage to defeat Targaryen's army. What about Jaime? Have Bronn already found him?"

"I know nothing about it, your Grace."

Cersei sighed, putting her hands on her belly. She still couldn't believe that this coward had left her. He probably was now in Winterfell with their stupid brother, the ugly woman trying to be the knight, and Bronn, who most likely had decided to accompany Jaime.

"They will kill him. Targaryen bitch will burn him alive."

"Should I send a chase after him?"

"No," she snapped. "He will come back. He always comes back."

She tried to pretend to be strong, but she was really afraid that he would not come back. Cersei believed Jaime's love was as strong as hers, but she might have been wrong. Maybe he didn't love her at all, or perhaps love wasn't enough to make him stay.

"Has there been a word from Euron Greyjoy?"

"Yes, your Grace, but not in the way you expect."

The change in his voice caught her attention. Cersei turned to look at him.

"What does it mean?"

Qyburn opened the door and called the guards. Two men entered her chamber, carrying a bag. Cersei peeped at ser Gregor who was standing a few steps away from her like the silent shadow accompanying her at any moment.

Then she looked at the bag which the guards put on the ground. The scent of death, the odor of decaying body spread out across the room. Cersei knew what it meant. She nodded, unable to utter a word. Qyburn unveiled the contents of the bag. Euron's blank stare remained long in her memory.

"A message from Yara Greyjoy," Quburn explained. "Her brother, Theon Greyjoy, came to rescue her."

"Had Euron managed to contact the Golden Company before he died?" Words hardly passed through her throat.

"Unfortunately not, your Grace. I believe Euron was about to leave in a few days."

"He was supposed to sail to Essos immediately after leaving King's Landing," she shouted. "Why didn't he?"

Qyburn did not know the answer to her question, perhaps the only person who knew was Euron, but he was no longer alive. The guards lifted his head and left Cersei's chamber, but the smell remained.

Cersei closed her eyes, feeling a surge of anxiety. So far she had known that if the Wights attacked King's Landing, she would hide in Essos or on the Iron Islands. But now there was no hope for her. She was alone with her unborn child. Without her lover, without a family, without any safe place to live.

When she went down to the dungeons accompanied by Qyburn and Ser Gregor, she quickly headed to the appropriate cell. Ellaria Sand looked like a shadow of her former self. Greasy hair, glossy eyes, dusty and dirty body. Still, a corner of her mouth lifted as Cersei entered the cell.

Her daughter's body had been removed from the cell a long time ago, though not much of her had been left. Exhausted by looking at the suffering of her daughter, Ellaria became a broken person. She often laughed bitterly or kept silent indifference.

"I see that the queen honored me with her presence," Ellaria sneered. "Have you met the new queen yet? She's more beautiful and powerful than you have ever been. How do you feel about it?"

"And how do you feel about your children being dead?"

Ellaria did not get provoked. Instead, she burst out laughing.

"The same as you do."

"My children aren't dead." Cersei massaged her belly. "Not all of them."

Laugh. Again, only laugh that sounded unnatural.

"Pregnant or not, you won't live long. Neither will your child." Ellaria clenched her hands on the chains, leaning forward. Her eyes glistened with madness. "The queen will burn you alive."

"Despite your words, I decided to show you mercy. Your suffering is coming to an end."

Cersei nodded to ser Gregor and left the cell.

"Mercy? Daenerys Targaryen won't show you mercy," Ellaria screamed, her voice echoing in the hall. "She will burn you! You will burn!"

And then she fell silent as ser Gregor slashed her throat. When Cersei returned to her bedchamber, she could still hear her voice. As if Ellaria was standing next to her and whispering them directly into her ear.

* * *

Winter was there. In the snowflakes falling from the sky and melting in contact with Jon's damp hair. In the snow crashing under the hooves of horses. In the cold wind trying to penetrate the skin through thick layers of fur. In the air smelling of freshness and home.

While the walls of the castle were getting closer, Jon felt the warmth filling his heart. For a moment he forgot about the army following him. As hypnotized he watched the gate open, inviting him inside. And then his best friend ran up to him, ignoring the high snow and freezing wind. Jon jumped off the horse and hugged his face to the soft fur of his direwolf, hardly holding back his tears.

"Ghost," he whispered, "I promise I will never leave you again."

Direwolf licked Jon's fingers in response, the red eyes staring up at him. Then they headed together towards the castle. Jon was nervous, but the presence of Ghost calmed him a little. He felt as if he had not been in Winterfell for years, as if his house could look completely different now. He scolded himself in mind for such thoughts. It was still Winterfell. Even though he hadn't seen them in years, Bran and Arya were still his half-siblings.

As he crossed the gate, the sight of his family took his breath away. They were there, all three of them, waiting for him to come. Sansa with snowflakes shining in her reddish-brown hair. Bran sitting in a wheelchair. He was not a little boy anymore. And Arya...

Jon couldn't take a closer look at her, for she was suddenly in his arms. She was heavier and taller than when he had seen her last time, nevertheless, he raised her from the ground and swiveled around. With his eyes closed and Arya in his arms, Jon wanted to stop this moment forever, never again having to let go of her.

"My sweet little sister," he said. "How long has it been?"

"Too long."

Her eyes shimmered with tears as she stepped back. Jon messed up her hair. Arya smiled, her gaze was more important than words. The way she stared at him assured him that she loved him just as she had used to, even if she was a different person now.

Jon turned to his brother, but this was not the Bran he remembered. Although his legs were hidden under the blanket, Jon imagined how tall his brother was now. If he could walk, they would stand side by side, shoulder to shoulder. Jon took a step forward, feeling his sisters look at him.

"Last time I saw you, you were lying unconscious in bed. Your mother held your hand. She did not want me there, but I had to... I had to say goodbye to you," Jon told him; his tone gentle, his eyes glossy. "I was so afraid that I would never see you again. And here we are."

"I saw you fighting the wildlings once." Bran kept his face devoid of emotion. "Later, our paths crossed again. I wanted to get your attention, but I knew that if I did, you would never let me search for the Three-Eyed Raven. I had to let you go in order to become who I am now."

"As far as I know, many of us Starks were so close and yet far away," Arya said. "Fate did not let us meet earlier. Until now."

"I'm not a Stark," Jon whispered.

"For us, you are," Bran assured him.

Jon leaned over and wrapped his arms around Bran. After a moment of hesitation, Bran returned his hug. Jon forgot about the fear of being rejected. It was his home. His family.

Sansa smiled at him as he approached her and kissed her on the forehead.

"I'm glad you're back," she admitted.

There were many things that they had to discuss. For the time being, however, the fluttering of the wings interrupted their reunion.

Everyone looked up. The view was impressive. Two huge dragons rounded the castle and then landed in front of the gate. Daenerys Targaryen alighted from Drogon and approached the courtyard with effortless grace. Arya and Sansa looked at each other, surprised, but after a moment they bowed to their new queen.

"Your Grace," Sansa said in a formal voice, "on behalf of Winterfell, I greet you in our humble thresholds. It's an honor for us."

"Thank you, Lady Stark."

"I'm sure you're tired after a long journey, your Grace. Arya, shall you show the queen her bedchamber?"

"Sure!"

Arya's voice was overly sweet and Jon figured that she didn't take pleasure from this request. But before she could take a step, her eyes widened. Sansa, who was standing next to her, seemed as much surprised. Jon turned to see what caught their attention. At the same moment, The Hound walked past them, smiling stupidly at Stark sisters.

"Isn't he supposed to be dead?" Sansa asked when Brienne approached her.

"He didn't fail to astonish me as well, my Lady."

Jon watched his sister and his queen go away with Missandei. These three women were so different from each other that this view was almost comical. Arya turned once to look at him and then disappeared inside of the castle.

When Jon gazed back at Sansa, he noticed that she was looking at him as if she had seen him for the first time. Only then he realized that her courtesy to the queen was only a pretense. Sansa didn't enjoy such a turn of events. Jon wanted to talk to her, but there were too many people around.

"Lady Sansa." Tyrion Lannister took a few steps towards them.

The expression on Sansa's face changed completely.

"My Lord," she said faintly.

"I would like to have a word with you if you don't mind."

"Of course. I will join you in a minute."

Tyrion left to talk to Bran. Brienne entered the castle, letting Jon and Sansa have a moment to talk.

"Sansa-" Jon started.

"We need as many people as possible, so I choose to believe that you will do the right thing," Sansa interrupted him. "If you think that Daenerys Targaryen should be our queen, let it be."

The tone of her voice was harsh and irresistible. Jon had no idea when she had become a true leader, but she surely had. Confident, without letting the emotions flow to the surface, she was very much like a queen.

"You've changed. Was it Littlefinger's execution that affected you so much?"

"Maybe. We've all changed. The Jon I knew wouldn't bend the knee before any queen."

"Sansa-"

"Wait until you find out how much Arya and Bran have changed." She kissed him on the cheek. "Welcome home, brother."

With Ghost at his side, Jon watched his sister walk away from him and he suddenly felt strangely lonely, as if the moment of a sweet reunion with his siblings had never happened.

* * *

"It's good to see you. It really is."

"It's good to see you too, my Lord. If only the circumstances were better."

The godswood was the only peaceful place in the chaos that Winterfell had become. Sansa and Tyrion were walking between the trees until they approached a frozen pool. Some time ago, they would be walking in the royal gardens. Sansa frightened and naive, Tyrion unwanted and lonely.

"Are you referring to the forthcoming battle or a visit of the queen?"

"Both, I guess." Sansa looked at him, stopping at the edge of the pool. Snowflakes settled on her lashes but disappeared as she blinked. "Can you tell me more about her?"

"I understand your distrust, Sansa. I warned her that you would react this way. You, the people of the north, do not know her. The queen is stubborn, dangerous, sometimes she doesn't listen to me at all. But she has a good heart, she believes in justice and freedom. She lost one of her dragons while saving your brother's life. If this is not a confirmation that she has good intentions, then I don't know what is."

"I think we truly need her right now. Without her, we won't defeat the army of the dead... I just hope that she hasn't come here to rule us. That for a moment, she will manage to forget about the throne."

"She will," Tyrion assured her, though he wasn't so sure about that.

Sansa sat down on the smooth stone beside the water. Tyrion could now take a better look at her. She was as beautiful as when he had seen her last, maybe even more. With red-brown hair falling down her back, with the fur on her shoulders and with flushed cheeks, she looked quite like her mother... although, in Tyrion's opinion, Sansa was much prettier.

In the background of the distinct beauty of the Starks, Sansa had delicate features. Tyrion was one of those people who knew that underneath the soft skin was a strong character, as well as intelligence and playability with more experienced players. Eventually, she outwitted Littlefinger himself.

"I've never apologized for leaving you behind," she said; her voice calm and melodious.

"You did what you had to do to survive."

"We're still married, aren't we?"

"Yes, I believe we are." He shifted from one foot to the other. "I've heard that you married Ramsay Bolton. Did he treat you well?"

Sansa looked down, sadness clouding her features.

"No. He never was as kind to me as you were." The way she spoke, with pain and strength at the same time, told Tyrion that Sansa had been hurt so much.

"What happened to him?"

"I let his dogs kill him. I watched his skin being torn. I listened to his scream. Then, I walked away with a smile. What kind of person could do such a terrible thing?"

Tyrion grabbed her hand. He had expected Sansa to shudder at the thought of his touch, but she surprised him by interlacing her fingers with his.

"A strong person. It was the death he deserved, Sansa. You are a survivor."

Her gaze was gentle when she looked at him. Her hand was cold but somehow comforting.

"Do you want to annul our marriage?"

"I think this would be the best option for both of us, but I don't want to talk about it. Not now." Sansa shove hair back away from her face. She seemed tired and sad. "We'll return to this conversation after the battle if you don't mind. As long as we survive it."

"I wish I could stay here forever instead of coming back to all those people," he confessed.

"Then there's two of us." She stood up, letting go of his hand. The moment of weakness had passed, Sansa Stark became a confident leader again. "We must go, Tyrion."

He nodded and started walking beside her. She was taking little steps so he could keep up, a smile wandering on her face. Tyrion guessed that it wasn't a frequent sight on her face, so the thought of making his wife smile was very enjoyable.

* * *

Jon would give a lot just to have a chance to talk to Eddard Stark for the last time. He would ask him if this was all true. If he had never been his father, if Jon's life had been a lie. He would look into his eyes and see the truth in them, even if he wouldn't like it at all.

Now he understood everything. Eddark Stark had been a man of honor who would never betray his wife. And yet he had decided to give up on his honor and call Jon his bastard son in order to save him from the wrath of King Robert.

That also explained why Drogon had allowed Jon to touch him. He had sensed that the blood of Targaryen was flowing in Jon's veins. And Rhaegal... a dragon named after his father, a biological father. The father Jon had never met.

 _You are a Stark_ , Ned once said. _You may not have my name, but you have my blood._

Of course, he had his blood. He was half Targaryen and half Stark.

"No," Arya snarled. Her voice reminded Jon that the conversation was still ongoing, but he hadn't participated in it since Bran had told him the truth. "I refuse to believe that. Give me a solid proof."

'There is a record about it, Arya. Sam read it," Bran assured her. "Besides, my visions are never wrong. I saw it all. Wedding, the birth of Jon. That's all true."

"Howland Reed was there too, wasn't he? Perhaps he could confirm this," Sansa suggested.

"I have already ordered Master Wolkan to send a raven to Howland Reed. His daughter, Meera... she's my friend."

"What? You should have told me instead of sending ravens behind my back."

"No time to argue, Sansa," Arya said. "Bran did what he thought was necessary."

Jon hid his face in his hands, unable to bear it any longer. Everything was a lie. His bastard status had been always a reason for him to feel like a loner, solemn and somber with a desire to prove himself to his father.

He had dreamed of being able to call himself a Stark, and now that he was half Stark, he was not feeling well at all. He looked at his siblings... No, they were his cousins.

"Jon." Arya placed her hand on his shoulder. Her tone gentled a little. "Say something."

Feeling the tears flowing down his cheeks, he wiped them with a sudden gesture.

"What can one say when their entire world is falling apart?"

"It doesn't change anything."

"Of course it does," Sansa snorted. She was sitting on Bran's bed and staring at Jon. "You are the rightful heir to the iron throne. Not the queen."

Daenerys. It was only now that it reached him. She was related to him. She was his father's sister. She was his aunt. And that meant...

"No," he whispered as his heart broke into small pieces.

"Yes," Bran said. "Sansa is right. The throne is yours."

The throne, the power... it didn't matter at all. But they couldn't understand. They didn't know what he felt. They didn't know that everything he believed in, everything he loved had fallen like the Wall.

"Jon, I know you feel lost." Arya hugged him. "But we still love you, you are still our brother. Nothing can change that."

He knew that Arya meant well, that she wanted to comfort him. But she made it even worse. He gently pushed her away and stood up from the window seat.

"I love you too, all of you. But now I need to be alone. Please, don't follow me, Arya."

As he was leaving, he felt their gaze on him as if their eyes had the power to burn a hole in his back.

On the way to his bedchamber, Ghost joined him. Jon almost laughed. As half Stark and half Targaryen, he could have had both a direwolf and a dragon.

When he reached his destination, he laid on the bed and hugged his face to the bedsheet. Ghost crouched beside him. After a moment Jon looked at him, and then Ghost licked the tears from his face.

"I'm not Aegon Targaryen," he confessed. "I don't know who I am."

"You are Jon. You will always be Jon."

Samwell Tarly was standing on the doorstep. He looked tense, but when he spoke his voice was confident. Jon managed to stop the tears and raise to sitting position. Ghost put his head on Jon's knees.

"I didn't hear you walk in," Jon said.

"Really? I usually make so much noise." Sam grinned, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. "Can I come in?"

"Only if you are not secretly a Stark or a Targaryen."

"Unfortunately I would not count on it." Sam closed the door and sat on the chair. "I think that the Starks would have treated me better than my own father. I'm not sure about Targaryens though."

At the mention of Sam's father, Jon remembered something. It hurt him that he had to deliver bad news to his friend.

"About your family..." Jon looked down and started to stroke Ghost's fur. "Your father and brother joined the Lannister army."

"What? No, it's... no," Sam's voice broke.

"The queen burned most of the army members. Your father and brother didn't want to bow to her," Jon couldn't lie to his friend even if the truth was painful, "so she executed them. I am very sorry, Sam."

He raised his head uneasily and the sadness he saw on Sam's face hurt him so much that for a moment he forgot about his own pain.

"What about my mother?"

"I have no idea. You should take Gilly and go to her."

"Yes, yes, I... I will. As soon as the war is over."

For a moment they were sitting in silence, overwhelmed by despair.

"I'm sorry," Sam said, his eyes full of tears. "I know what it feels like. When there is no place to which you belong. When you don't know where your home is. I used to feel that way too. But then I met you, and then Gilly, and I realized that home wasn't a place. Home is where there are people we love. Here in Winterfell, you have lived with your loved ones for many years. Some of them are still here. Sansa, Bran, Arya... maybe they aren't your siblings, but they are your family because you love them. Because they love you too. And since they are here, this is your home. Winterfell is your home."

Jon could no longer hold back tears, but he didn't feel embarrassed by it. Sam was his friend and he certainly didn't intend to evaluate him because of a moment of weakness. Jon hid his face in Ghost's fur, feeling a familiar scent.

He still had a reason to get up every morning. He had a reason to fight. He had a reason to live. The biggest battle was coming and he had to win. He had to protect those he loved. Closing his eyes, he thought of them. Arya, Bran, Sansa, Ghost, Sam... Daenerys.

"That's the best you ever told me, Sam. But nothing can erase the fact that I slept with my own aunt."

Sam's eyes widened and he was sitting with his mouth open for a moment, trying to find the right words. Jon knew they did not exist.

"Do you love her?" Sam finally asked.

"Yes, I do. I would rather not do this, but I must tell her the truth and put an end to what is happening between us. This may be the hardest thing I've ever done."

"Probably defeating the Night King will be simpler."

"Thanks, Sam."

In spite of all their pain, they both managed to smile.


	3. Lion's confession

**_Lion's confession_**

Sandor Clegane hated winter. Everything about it annoyed him. The cold that was able to freeze someone to death. The snow that made it hard to make a step without having both legs wet and cold. And the fucking ice... He didn't want to be one of those idiots who broke their legs because they slipped on the ice.

Though he hated it all, sitting inside the castle and listening to all the lords pretending to be the wisest people in the world was even worse. That was why he found a quiet place in the backyard and sat down on the bench. He was staring at the flag of House Stark waving in the wind.

"You're alive."

He almost jumped at the sound of her voice. This little crazy girl scared him.

"I'm glad you noticed," he snarled.

Arya Stark stood before him and smiled with superiority, holding her hands behind her back. Maybe he would not admit it aloud, but seeing her, safe and sound, made him quite happy. He was more than happy to think that she was able to take care of herself now. Although, on the other hand, it could end badly for him.

"How's your fucking list?"

"Most killed. Only two names remain. Cersei Lannister and Gregor Clegane."

"I dream about killing them myself so tell me if you need help."

"I don't."

"Of course. Now you are a bad girl who kills for fun and takes everything seriously. No room for dresses and fancy hairstyles."

"I don't kill for fun. I do it to avenge my family." Arya pulled out her sword and put his end to his throat. He remembered it. Needle. "Any last words?"

"Aye. I need a beer."

She laughed and thrust her sword back into her scabbard. Then she sat down on one of the barrels set against the wall.

"No mention of my name," The Hound said. "Am I not on your list anymore?"

"You were no longer on it when Brienne almost killed you," she responded calmly, smirking.

"So you left me to die only because you were a little bitter shit. I guess you've killed a lot of people since then."

"I've avenged the Red Wedding by killing the entire House Frey."

Sandor smiled, wishing he could see it. It was not really the same girl he had traveled with years ago, though she was still very annoying.

"It's good that you can defend yourself. When the battle comes, the weakest will fall first."

"Well then, enjoy your last moments."

When he watched her leave, he wondered when, in addition to turning into a murderer, she had gained his kind of humor. It was him who usually had the last word. Apparently, the student had surpassed the master.

He spat on the ground and stood up, ready to return to the castle and drink something strong. But as soon as he turned, Sansa Stark stood on his way.

What the fuck was wrong with these Stark sisters?

"Is creeping out of nowhere a normal thing in your family?" He snarled, not quite knowing how to behave.

She had used to be afraid of him. Now she looked at him in astonishment.

"I don't understand what you mean. I just want to ask if you've seen Arya."

"Unfortunately. She threatened me with her childish sword. You, Starks, are fucking weird."

Sansa Stark smiled and it was a nice smile, not forced and artificial. He had never seen it before.

"I imagined you would end up being a wife of some high-born asshole and you would be unhappy for the rest of your life with scars under a dress," he admitted. "This is totally not what I expected."

"I have scars," she told him, looking away, "and I carry them as a reminder to never trust a man again."

"Well said, little bird."

She looked at him and opened her mouth as if to say something, but the sound of the gate being opened interrupted her. The Hound turned to see how Jaime fucking Lannister entered Winterfell.

* * *

Guided by the guards, Jaime knew he was watched by people who hated him. Bronn walked behind him, whistling as if he wasn't afraid at all that he might burn alive or lose his head.

They were led to a room full of Northmen. Jaime felt overwhelmed by their presence. Only a long table separated him from people who would decide whether to kill him or let him live. Daenerys Targaryen was sitting in the middle. Her face devoid of any emotions. At close range, she seemed exceptionally beautiful but dangerous. Like Cersei.

Tyrion was sitting to her left. Noticing him, Jaime felt a little hope that only proved his naivety. He looked at his brother, and Tyrion smiled slightly, clearly upset and surprised. No one had expected him in Winterfell. Not alone, without an army, with only a sellsword by his side.

Next to his brother was a boy. Jaime recognized him as Bran Stark, although he was much different from the little boy Jaime had once thrown from the tower... Remembering that moment, a sudden wave of hatred flooded him from the inside. This boy could not walk because of Jaime. He had destroyed Bran's life in the name of toxic love.

To the right of the Queen, Jon Snow was sitting. For a moment, Jaime wondered if he would be the one to execute him. Next to Jon was Sansa Stark. She had become a beautiful, confident woman. Right next to her a girl was standing, holding her hand on the sword's hilt. Arya Stark. So both girls had come home. Brienne should be proud of herself.

Brienne.

She stood behind Sansa Stark, like her shadow, like her guardian angel. However, she only looked at him as if he had been the only person in this room. He could hear his heart breaking into small pieces. The last thing he wanted for her was to watch his death.

"Jaime Lannister. Kingslayer. Oathbreaker. Man Without Honor." Daenerys' voice was so cold that it seemed to him that she was stabbing him with icicles. "Why are you here?"

"I came to fight the army of the dead," he drawled.

Laughter resounded in the room, but he did not bother to look at these people. His gaze placed on the queen, who only smiled.

"Where is your army, Ser Jaime? As far as I know, you are a commander of the Lannister armies. Your sister promised to help the north face the White Walkers."

"My sister lied about aiding the north in the war against the dead," he told her. Some people began to whisper to each other, others listened to him in silence. "I found out while preparing to march north. To honor my pledge, I left King's Landing and came here to fight by your side."

"I can't believe Cersei let you go," Tyrion said.

"Actually, she was close to killing me, but she hesitated. Cersei spared us both, dear brother. She won't make this mistake again."

Jaime glanced at Brienne, but only for a moment, not to raise suspicion.

"I see that you also brought our common friend." Tyrion clapped his hands. "I knew you would switch sides eventually, Bronn."

"I serve the person who pays the most." Bronn bowed to the queen. "Besides, I have a stupid habit of getting into trouble with the Lannister brothers."

Tyrion laughed, but his smile faded when Daenerys gave him a cold stare.

"I need the whole army," she said. "What will I have with a knight without a hand and a sellsword who can't provide me with loyalty?"

"I came to help you," Jaime snapped, irritated. "You don't know me, but it's true."

"I know you killed my father and tried to kill me and my dragon. I know you killed Olenna Tyrell and her people. I know you have betrayed your queen to come here. How can I be sure that you won't sneak into my bedchamber at night and cut my throat?"

"Let him deserve your trust, your Grace," Jon Snow suggested. "Let him confess his crimes."

Jaime swallowed, surprised and frightened at the same time. He looked at Tyrion, but his brother was staring at his queen as if hoping she would not listen to the bastard.

"Well then," Daenerys lifted her chin, "where do we start?"

It was his end.

"Let's start with the day when it all began." Bran Stark looked at him. "When Jaime Lannister pushed me out of the tower's window."

All glances turned to him. No one dared to say a word. Arya Stark took a step forward as if to cut his throat. Although he did not know her, deep down he suspected that she was capable of it.

He remembered that day. Cersei's passionate kisses and her moans when he pleased her. This memory contrasted with another. A scared stare of Bran Stark and his scream when he lost ground under his feet.

"Admit it." Jon Snow rose from his seat, powerful and menacing. He aroused respect like his father had used to. "Admit that you mutilated my brother."

"I admit it." He dared look at Bran. "Not a day goes by without me regretting it. I made a mistake, a huge one. Forgive me, my Lord."

"He must die," Arya stated.

"My brother expressed sincere regret about his sin," Tyrion said. He tried to speak in a strong voice, but Jaime saw the fear in his eyes. "He's a better man now. He has changed. All of us who are sitting in this room now... each of us has made mistakes. If we all were judged by them, who would be still alive?"

"If I can add something, your Grace, I would like to confirm that Ser Jaime is a good man." Brienne's voice surprised him so much that he forgot how to breathe. He knew his reaction was visible on his face. "Ser Jaime helped me escape being raped and saved my life when I got imprisoned in a gladiatorial pit with a bear. Moreover, he tasked me with finding Lady Sansa and taking her somewhere safe after she had escaped from King's Landing."

Jaime looked at her and for a moment he imagined that only they both were in that room. Brienne wasn't a beautiful lady. She wasn't even half as pretty as Cersei, Daenerys or Sansa. But her personality was beautiful, her heart was good, not spoiled by a desire to rule. She was special and he hoped that she was aware of that.

"I appreciate your concern, Ser Jaime," Sansa said. "Brienne told me that you had always been kind to her. I also know how important you are to my husband, but I don't think your actions against my brother can be forgiven."

"There are also other crimes that ser Jaime committed," Daenerys stated. For some time, the queen had been sitting quietly, but now she looked at him with no intention of mercy. "You're a kingslayer. You killed my father despite pledging your loyalty to him. How do you answer these chargers?"

"It's true. I killed the Mad King. And if I had to, I would do it again." He heard Tyrion's sigh. "He wanted to set the city ablaze with the hidden wildfire, burning its five hundred thousand inhabitants to death. I did what I had to do. You cannot blame me for that."

"You tried to kill me and my dragon. I saw you riding on your-"

"It was in a battle. I killed Olenna Tyrell because Cersei ordered me to do so. I did everything because I was obedient to her. You hate me because I'm Cersei's brother, but her second brother is sitting next to you. It took me longer to understand that Cersei is an egotistical manipulator. Tyrion is the wisest Lannister and he has always known the truth. I had refused to see it until Cersei betrayed you. Now I want to do the right thing. I deserve to be here."

Jaime felt tired. He wanted it to end, no matter how. He wanted them to stop blaming him for everything he had done.

"You have proven that you're capable of treason. How can I trust you?"

"I've learned that the good of society is more important than loyalty to the ruler. If you are worthy of the iron throne and you're able to prove it, then I will never give you a reason not to trust me. It's time to stop thinking about the throne and focus on the only thing that matters. The Great War is coming."

For a moment they were looking at each other in silence; the queen and her father's killer.

"Lord Bran," she said, never taking her eyes off Jaime. "Do you want this man to pay for the harm done to you?"

"No," Bran answered. Jaime felt his heart beating fast. "He cannot die today. He has a bigger purpose which will affect the fate of the whole Westeros. The time for his death will come soon enough."

The way Bran uttered these words scared Jaime. It was as if the boy had been sure of his words. As if it had been a prophecy.

"Ser Jaime Lannister." Daenerys stood up. "Your sins are forgiven. To prove that Cersei Lannister is no longer your queen, bend the knee and promise to fight by my side until your last breath. The same applies to your friend."

Bronn didn't need her to repeat it. He pulled out his sword and knelt.

"You have my word, your Grace," he swore.

Tyrion clenched his hands on the table, looking expectantly at his brother. Jaime almost could hear him saying, "Do it, idiot."

A host of memories rushed into his mind. Tyrion hugging him as Jaime released him from the cell. Cersei saying that she's pregnant again. Bronn joining him while traveling north. Brienne telling him to fake loyalty.

And then he bent the knee.

* * *

"He's staring at you, my Lady."

"I know he is, Podrick."

Tormund's behavior was highly annoying. It was true that the feeling of being adored was something quite new to her and that it made her feel better about herself. Men usually didn't look at her that way, and although it was quite nice, it was also the reason for her anger.

He showed her affection only with eyes. He had never actually tried to speak with her. He could find out what kind of person Brienne really was, what she wanted from life, what interested her. Instead, he liked her at a distance, apparently hoping that she would make the first step.

Brienne had no intention to do so. Besides, her heart had already belonged to someone else.

She had been waiting in the courtyard for a long time. Finally, Jaime left the castle with his brother and Bronn. Before she could realize what she was doing, her legs were leading her to him. Podrick was barely keeping up.

"Ser Jaime!" Her voice sounded exceptionally weak. Brienne cursed in her thoughts.

Jaime stopped. At first, he seemed surprised, but after a moment, he looked at her as if the fact that she had been waiting for him was the most normal thing in the world.

"Come on, boys, lovebirds have a lot to catch up," Bronn said.

"Lovebirds? Have I missed something?" Tyrion asked, but he followed Bronn on the way to the dining room.

Brienne ignored them, only nodding to Podrik, who after a moment of hesitation joined his friends.

"Bronn thinks that I slept with you," Jaime told her. "We've seen each other naked, I hope you remember that, but things haven't got that far yet. For some reason, he doesn't want to believe me."

 _Yet._ Brienne raised an eyebrow, pink creeping onto her cheeks.

"I am glad that humor doesn't leave you, Jaime, considering that you could be dead now if the queen wasn't gracious enough."

"You're right. If I was dead, I would never get a chance to thank you."

Brienne blinked in astonishment. In his eyes, there was so much love and concern that Brienne began to wonder if he hadn't lost his mind. In the end, he was here, with her, instead of remaining at Cersei's side. It could not be Jaime.

"Thank me? I only told the truth."

"No, not because you interceded for me. Although it's very nice of you, I would like to thank you for something else," he said. "Back in King's Landing, you told me to fuck loyalty. I have to admit, it was a shock to my face. I thought it was not possible that my Brienne would say something like that. And then I understood. If the most honorable person I know is able to say something like that, it can't be ignored. Sometimes opposition to the ruler is more honorable than standing at their side. You helped me see my sister's lies. Thank you, Brienne. You always make me want to be a better man."

"You... You called me yours," she whispered. It was hard for her to breath. "Your Brienne."

"Does it bother you?"

Never before had she loved him so much as in this very moment. However, love had never been a big part of her life. She didn't know how to show tenderness, had no experience in dealing with men.

She turned around to make sure that Tormund was not looking at them, but he had been already gone. The courtyard was empty, everyone gathered in the castle for a meal. Brienne looked back at Jaime. Snowflakes shone on his golden hair.

When he reached out and run his hand across her cheek, she involuntarily shivered under his touch.

"It's cold," she whispered, closing her eyes. "We should go inside."

It was only now that she understood that she hadn't answered his question, but he must have known the answer.

"You don't have to be afraid." His voice was calm, his touch gentle. "Do you trust me?"

"I do. I trust you with my life."

"Good."

His lips were both cold and sweet when he pressed them against hers. Brienne was not afraid. He took her face in his hands and deepened the kiss, and she, despite lack of experience, quickly found herself in this new, pleasant feeling.

His touch led her to think about only one word. Home. Jaime was her home.

* * *

Daenerys felt the overwhelming feeling of happiness as she watched Jorah speak to Lyanna Mormont. Dany convinced Lady Mormont that Ser Jorah was a good man and deeply regretted that he couldn't ask for forgiveness of his father. Lady Mormont accepted his apologies on behalf of the entire House. Dany stepped away, not wanting to interrupt family reconciliation.

Not only Jorah enjoyed his stay in Winterfell. Although there were many people around, Dany easily noticed Missandei and Grey Worm smiling at each other with goblets of wine in their hands. The queen also grinned. Despite the coming battle, her friends managed to enjoy themselves and find comfort in small things. Missandei and Grey Worm's love reminded her of Jon.

Since they had come to Winterfell, they had barely talked to each other. Dany understood it. In the north, Jon was the leader and he had a lot of responsibilities. Moreover, he certainly wanted to spend as much time as he could with his family, considering that he had not seen them for so long.

She just missed him. His touch, his kisses, his love.

"It's nice to see that the joy of your people is the reason for your joy as well, your Grace," Varys said in a melodious voice. "A queen, who cares not only about her own happiness, is a good queen."

Dany smiled with pleasure at being praised.

"Is that what you believe in, Lord Varys? Do you believe in me being a good queen?"

"Living in this world full of brutality and manipulation, it's hard to believe in anything that might bring a better future," he told her. "However, it's quite easy to believe in you, your Grace. I believe your rule is the best way to preserve peace and prosperity in the Seven Kingdoms."

"I have a feeling that beneath these sweet words lies a deeper meaning," she stated.

He looked at her, and even if his eyes were gentle and his lips quirked up into a smile, he appeared devious and untrustworthy.

"My birds say that, indeed, the Lannister armies don't intend to march north."

"Jaime Lannister is not lying."

"Yes. You can tell a lot about him, but not that he is a liar. Your Grace," he hesitated, "the Great War is coming, the one that the world has not seen yet. Since we know that dragons can be killed, your life is even more threatened. To sit on the iron throne, you must first be alive."

"What are you saying, Lord Varys?" Her tone became cold. "You don't want me to back out of the fight, do you?"

"At the place where we're standing at this very moment, Lord Petyr Baelish was executed. I didn't like him, but I wasn't blind to his intelligence and ability to manipulate. There was no other man like him. And yet he got killed by two daughters of the woman he loved most in the world. It made me realize that no matter how omnipotent you are, death comes for everyone. Even for the queen of dragons."

"I am not the queen who hides in the castle and waits for the end of the battle to sit on the throne and reward those who have survived," she drawled. "If the death wants to catch me, let her try."

Daenerys left him before he could say anything, for what he would pay with his life.

She didn't want to be among people, not anymore. She headed to her bedchamber. She knew the way, though usually she was accompanied by Missandei, Jorah or Tyrion. Now each of them enjoyed one of the last quiet evenings before the battle. She still thought of Varys' words and wondered how many people would she lose, how many tears would fill her eyes when she would mourn them.

But her dragons, her children... Dany had already lost Viserion. She could not allow anything to happen to Drogon or Rhaegal.

The people, who she passed along the way, bowed to her. Some of them she had already known. Lord Manderly was as nice to her as his son. She could see that he was drunk and barely stood on his thick legs. Ser Davos exchanged a few words with her, explaining that he was heading to Gendry, whoever he was.

When she finally reached her destination, she hoped for a hot bath and a quiet moment of loneliness. Surprised by the presence of the person she least expected, Dany blushed and was incapable of speech. Jon was leaning against the wall next to the door. Noticing her, he smiled but his smile did not reach his eyes.

"My Queen," he whispered.

She struggled with the need to run to him and greet him with a passionate kiss. Someone could see them. Instead, she kept calm, opened the door and came in, knowing that he was following her.

Jon closed the door and Dany turned to him, feeling oddly helpless. They were alone, without any witnesses. For the first time in many days.

"I thought you would prefer to keep the distance so that your people would not misread your loyalty to me," she told him. Her voice was strong in contrast to her heart that beat fast every time Jon was so close. "Being alone in my room can raise suspicion."

"I don't care what people say," he stated. "I'm here because I have to tell you something and it's better to keep it between us. For now at least."

Dany sat on the bed, curious and frightened at the same time. There was something in his eyes... a shadow of sadness, anger, and remorse. Whatever it was, she was afraid she might not like it.

"You have my attention."

There were three chairs on which Jon could sit. She noticed that he chose the farthest one.

"It's commonly known that your brother Rhaegar kidnapped Lyanna Stark and raped her," he spoke as if the words were hardly passing through his throat. "That's not true. They loved each other and got secretly married."

Jon stopped, avoiding eye contact. She shivered, but leaned forward, feeling that this was only the beginning of this story.

"Continue," she encouraged him.

"Before dying in the Tower of Joy, Lyanna gave birth to a baby boy. She beseeched Eddard Stark to promise to keep her son safe, fearing that king Robert would kill the boy."

He was quiet for a moment. And then he looked straight at her and Dany read the truth from his face. She felt as if the world had turned upside down and she had been falling down into nothingness.

"Lyanna named the boy Aegon Targaryen, the same as his half-brother. To keep the child safe, Ned Stark took him to Winterfell and announced that it was his bastard son."

"You're Aegon Targaryen," she whispered. "You're my nephew."

Jon attempted to say a few things, but none of the noises actually turned into words let alone sentences. Tears shone in his eyes.

"How do you know that?" Dany stood up. "When did you find out? Are you sure you're not wrong?"

Filled with questions, Jon sighed and massaged the back of his neck.

"My brother Bran told me yesterday. He's now the Three-Eyed Raven and can see the past, the present, and sometimes the future. He saw it all. Wedding, my birth, my mother's death. If it's not enough, my friend Sam read the journal of High Septon Maynard. Maynard issued an annulment for Rhaegar who remarried at a secret ceremony in Dorne. Moreover, Bran sent a raven to Howland Reed, who can confirm that Lyanna gave birth before dying. It's all true."

Dany came to the window and leaned her hands on the sill, afraid that she could faint. She had never expected anything like this. Since Viserys' death, she had thought she was the only Targaryen left. She had thought she hadn't had any family, that she had been alone in the world. And now she found the last member of her family and her love in the same person.

There was only one problem. As the last Targaryen, she had always thought she had been the rightful heir to the iron throne, that the Seven Kingdoms had belonged to her and only to her. But now if Rhaegar's son was alive...

"You're the heir to the iron throne," Dany whispered, torn between what her heart wanted and what she had been striving for her whole life.

"No," Jon immediately denied, rising from the chair. "Perhaps I am, but I don't want it. I bent the knee and called you my queen. When the war is over, I will swear my loyalty again and renounce my claim to the throne. It's yours. You will always be my queen."

The tears fell down her face as she wrapped her arms around his solid torso. Jon pulled her closer to him, stroking her silvery hair with his fingers. He was the most important person in her life. He was not only her lover, with whom she shared the bed and whose heart belonged to her, but he was also her only family member.

"I hope you understand why we cannot be together, My Queen."

Dany stiffened in his arms. She slowly pulled away from his embrace, feeling the fire burning inside of her, fear and disbelief hindering her breathing.

"Actually, I don't," she admitted.

"We're related. We have the same blood," he explained. "You are my aunt. I... I cannot do that..."

"Targaryens often married brother to sister to keep their bloodline pure. Do I have to remind you, Jon, that I can't have children? Our relationship is not a problem for me. In fact, I want you in my life more than anything. You're my family. I love you."

She put a hand on his cheek. Jon closed his eyes, breathing deeply. She saw him fight and realized that for him it was really a problem. He was different from her.

"Say you love me," she asked. "Please."

Instead of answering, he kissed her. Deeply and fast, as if this kiss was as important to him as air. It didn't last long. Before she could react, he grabbed her hands and pressed them to his lips. Dany felt the tears streaming down her cheeks once again.

"I love you," he confessed, the pain in his voice broke her heart. "I just feel that what we have is not right. I need some time."

"We might not have time," she snapped, surprised by the sound of her own voice.

"Forgive me, your Grace."

Jon let go of her hands and turned to leave. When he was at the door, her voice stopped him. Cold as ice. Impetuous as fire.

"I didn't give you permission to leave," she said.

Dany knew she had power over him. She could have made him stay. She could have forced him to remain as her lover. She could have forced him to do anything. But when he looked at her with tears in his eyes, she knew she was not capable of that. That she would never hurt him.

"Pretending not to love you will be the hardest thing I've ever had to do," he whispered. "Please, don't make it even harder."

Before she could answer, she had to take a deep breath and order herself to be strong.

"You can leave."

* * *

Blood. There was blood all over. It seemed to her that she was floating in the sea of blood. Blood was accompanied by pain. Cersei crouched, covering her belly with her hands.

Her child was gone.

Blood was sticky when she put her hand under the bedcovers to feel it on her fingers. The place between her legs became increasingly wet. Cersei pushed aside the blanket and saw blood everywhere, the blood reminding her that she had lost everything.

Cersei did not scream. Although the pain was squeezing tears from her eyes, she did not scream. She slipped from the bed, hitting her knees against the cold floor. Sudden pain for a moment, but only for a moment repressed the abdominal one.

She lost her child.

The wind came through the open window, causing her to shiver, but even that could not stop her. She started crawling on the floor, leaving a bloody trail behind her.

When she reached the door, she struggled to get up and grabbed the door handle. As the door opened ser Gregor saved her from falling.

She heard people running around the castle, someone called for the maester, the servants surrounded her. But she barely saw them. She thought about Jaime and that she must see him. For the last time. She must see him and tell him that their child had died. Because of him.

"Prepare the armies," she muttered. "We're heading north."

And then she let the darkness take her, while her cold body fell to the bottom of the bloody sea.


	4. The long night, part I

**_The long night, part I_**

"Do we have enough people?"

"I hope so," Davos said. "The Queen's army greatly increases our chance of winning, but-"

"-it does not provide it," Jon finished.

They walked through one of the inner corridors, talking about the upcoming battle. Jon knew he should focus on the preparations, find a way to defeat the Night King. Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do to keep his thoughts from wandering towards Daenerys.

He could not get rid of her from his mind, he still remembered the way she had looked at him with tears in her eyes, so disappointed and hurt.

On the way to the dining room, they came across two people he hadn't expected to see. Especially together.

"I heard you got sick," Jon said to Gendry. "How are you feeling?"

"Better, my Lord, thanks to Arya. She takes good care of me."

"Really?" Davos smirked.

"Can you excuse us for a moment?" Arya turned to them. "I would like to speak to my brother."

"Of course, my Lady." Davos patted Gendry on the shoulder. "Come on, young man. Breakfast is waiting for us."

Jon waited until they disappeared behind the corner, then he looked at Arya. She leaned against the wall and crossed her arms. He finally had the opportunity to talk to her privately, but he didn't know what to say. Not since he had found out that she had never been his sister.

"I wasn't aware of the fact that you and Gendry know each other," he admitted.

"I met him when I escaped from King's Landing with the help of Yoren."

"I guess there are a lot of things I don't know about you."

"Yes. I've been through too much to be able to put it all into words. I'm a different person now," Arya said in a sad voice, "but there are things that have not changed and never will."

She took out her sword from the scabbard. His heart filled with warmth as she let him hold it. The thin sword was light, intended for a quick attack. Jon remembered the day he had given it to her. She had been so happy back then.

"You still have it," he whispered, afraid that his voice would break.

"It could not be otherwise." Arya put the sword back into the scabbard, clearly fighting with tears. "This is the only thing I always carry with me. Everything changes, but not Needle. It reminds me of my family. It reminds me of my big brother."

"Will you ever stop calling me your brother?"

"No, I will not."

The way she believed in him, the way she loved him... It was too much for him. Jon hugged her tightly. She was his sister, his little sweet sister. He wanted to protect her from the world, make sure that she would never leave Winterfell. He couldn't lose her. Not again.

"I hope you find Needle useful," he said when she stepped back.

"I stuck some people with the pointy end," Arya confessed, waiting for his reaction.

He had already known that. Sansa had told him everything, outraged that their sister had changed a lot. Jon looked at that matter in a different way. He had too much blood on his own hands to be able to judge anyone.

"I died, Arya, stabbed to death by my own men at Castle Black. The Red woman resurrected me. My scars remind me of it, but also the changes that have taken place inside of me. I've changed just like you. I've survived just like you. And yet here we are, despite all the things we've seen, all the things that have destroyed our innocence. Just like Sansa and Bran. The last thing I want now is to judge your actions. I'm not the right person to do so, no one is."

"No one," Arya snorted, clearly stirred by his words.

"What do you mean?"

"Someday I'll tell you. Are you hungry?"

"Starving," he retorted with a smile.

As they started to walk down the corridor, Jon messed up Arya's hair and made her laugh. It felt like the old sweet days. For a moment, they were just kids full of love and joy.

* * *

Tyrion pushed the door and entered a chamber occupied by his brother. Despite the forgiveness of the queen, Jaime got the smallest room, certainly not fitting a high-born person. Tyrion, though he did not need much space, had a larger chamber overlooking the godswood.

The room was in darkness. As Tyrion took a step forward, Jaime did not make any move, probably still sleeping. It was only when Tyrion unveiled the curtains and the light came in, Jaime moaned, covering his face with a duvet.

To Tyrion's enormous surprise, Jaime was not alone. Right next to him, a woman was sleeping, at least he realized it was a woman after seeing her exposed breast. When he looked more closely, it dawned on him that it was Brienne of Tarth.

Interesting.

Jaime's room was small and not too cozy, but it was stocked with wine. Tyrion poured himself a little and sat down on the table, staring at this unique pair with evident curiosity.

"I guess Bronn won the bet," he said loud enough to be sure that he woke them up. "And I turned out to be a fool, thinking that you were too much of a cunt to go for it, brother."

Brienne's reaction was immediate. She jumped out of bed and stood in front of him, naked, but certainly not defenseless.

"It's rude to enter the room without knocking, my Lord," she told him, dressing up.

"I've never been a good boy. Neither is Jaime, but you probably already know something about it, my Lady." He smiled at her.

"Tyrion," Jaime snapped.

He sat down and put on his shirt. Brienne had been already dressed and ready to leave, but Tyrion encouraged her to take a seat.

"Stay, my Lady, and forgive me for my behavior. No more mocking, I promise."

Brienne did not seem convinced. With flushed cheeks, disheveled hair and a shirt emphasizing her breasts, she looked more like a woman than ever before.

Jaime was full of life, much different from the Jaime who Tyrion had seen in King's Landing weeks ago. Released from Cersei's power, Jaime began to breathe again with his full chest. He looked healthy and strong as he approached the window and glanced at his brother skeptically.

"It's morning and you're already drinking," Jaime noticed.

"Well, deprived of the pastimes that you have tasted that night, I'm left with only my eternal friend. Wine." Tyrion took a sip, suddenly feeling nostalgic. "I don't remember how it is to share a bed with a woman. Lady Brienne, does Sansa sometimes talk about me?"

"I know nothing about it, my Lord. I believe Lady Sansa has more important issues on her mind than thinking about her husband."

"You're hurting my feelings." Tyrion put down the empty cup.

"You are going to annul your marriage, aren't you?" Jaime said.

Tyrion knew that his marriage was finalized with coercion, without mutual love. It had never been consumed, so it could easily be annulled. And yet he felt sad at the thought that he would be alone again.

Although Sansa kept the distance, Tyrion felt good knowing that he had someone who cared about him. Even if she did not love him. Of course, he was going to agree to cancel the marriage because Sansa's happiness was always important to him and he would never do anything against her. However, if she changed her mind and chose to remain his wife, he would accept her decision with relief.

"Yes, we are," he finally admitted.

"I think I better go back to Lady Sansa." Brienne stood up. "She's probably wondering where I am."

"I'll find you later," Jaime spoke to her so tenderly that it actually surprised Tyrion.

After Brienne left, Jaime was looking at the door for a moment, then he sat down on the window seat.

"Since we are alone, I must say that I am proud of you, Jaime. I've always thought there was something wrong with you. What kind of a man is sleeping with only one woman in his whole life? Not to mention that this woman is his own sister. Brienne is a good start."

"Brienne is not a start," Jaime retorted.

Tyrion laughed but he quickly realized that it was not a joke at all.

"Is it possible that my older brother fell in love?"

"Perhaps. I don't know. Can we change the subject? I can't stop thinking about what Bran Stark said. You know, the thing about my death."

"He just wanted to frighten you," Tyrion assured him, but his smile faded.

"What people say about him... is this true? Can that kid see the future?"

"If he could, we would have already known how to defeat the army of the dead and who will sit on the iron throne. Stop thinking about it. The queen spared your life, you reunited with your little brother, and you're fucking a woman who's not your sister. There is no cause for concern. We're going to eat something, you and I. After the wine I always get hungry."

Tyrion descended from the table and headed for the door, trying to fight the fear that was creeping under his skin.

"I left her, Tyrion," Jaime said when they were walking inside the castle. "I left Cersei. There must be some consequences."

"Cersei is in the south, you are in the north. Her power cannot reach you here."

He tried to comfort his brother, although he knew that whenever it was about their sister, nothing was certain. They walked in silence, and Tyrion could not get rid of the thought that something was wrong.

"Do you know that she is pregnant?"

"Yes, she told me." Tyrion laughed bitterly. "Just before she lied to my face that she would help my queen in the battle with the army of the dead. Jaime," Tyrion grabbed his arm, "when the war is over and the time for the throne comes, the queen will kill Cersei. You must be aware of this."

They looked at each other in silence. Finally, Jaime nodded. When Tyrion crossed the threshold of the dining room, he noticed Bronn immediately. Taking two coins from his pouch, he threw them on the table in front of his friend. Then Tyrion and Jaime took a seat next to him.

"You won," Tyrion informed him with a smile.

"You're kidding me!" Bronn picked up the coins and send Jaime a curious glance. "How was it?"

"Shut the fuck up, Bronn," Jaime snorted.

Bronn burst out laughing, but Tyrion was not in a mood. He looked at the table at which the Starks, Jon Snow and Daenerys' people were sitting, including Missandei and Varys.

But the queen was not with them.

Tyrion approached them, feeling many eyes following him. They had always stared at him as if they had never seen a dwarf before.

"Where's the queen?" He turned to Missandei.

"The queen felt bad and asked for breakfast to be served to her bedchamber," she explained, clearly concerned. "I suggested that I could stay with her, but she wanted to be alone."

Tyrion spent the rest of the morning in silence, sitting next to Sansa, but thinking of his queen, his sister, and the upcoming battle. Although he did not know what was the reason for his anxiety, he knew something was wrong. Very wrong.

* * *

That night was not one of the best for Daenerys. As she was laying in the bed staring at the ceiling, she could not stop thinking about Jon. When she finally fell asleep, the nightmares woke her up and made her scream. She dreamed of Drogo and Rhaego. It felt as if she had lost them only yesterday and the pain was still too strong to bare.

Finally, she sat down by the fireplace covered with a blanket and watched the flames. Missandei came to her in the morning, but Dany told her that she would rather eat breakfast in her chamber. She wanted to be alone.

Dany felt tired, had no appetite or desire to spend time around people. She even considered staying in her room for a whole day. There was only one thing she wanted to do. Looking at her dragons always made her feel better, so she came to the window.

An incredible view took her breath away. The great army, consisting of more than ten thousand infantry, cavalry, and war elephants, was heading to Winterfell. At the head of the army, Dany noticed a few men holding the House Greyjoy banner.

Half an hour later she was standing in the main room, greeting guests.

"Your Grace." Yara Greyjoy bowed to her.

"I was afraid I would never see you again," Dany admitted. "I am glad that you managed to get here just in time to stand by my side in the battle."

"It took me a while, but for a good reason. Before I strangled my uncle with the chain, the same one he had previously attached to my legs, Euron inspired me to increase the queen's army. Although he had a different queen, I decided to give gifts to both his and my queen. Cersei received Euron's head. And you, My True Queen, shall accept the Golden Company as a proof of my devotion to you."

Dany smiled, filled with hope and strength. She looked at her people, but they were unable to say anything. This sudden delivery of force was surprising and also very much needed.

"Thank you, Yara. I truly appreciate your gift."

"A wise man once said that an army that fights for gold is worth less than an army that fights for a cause," Tyrion dared to speak. "These people will not provide you with loyalty, your Grace."

"I understand your doubts, Tyrion, but we need the Golden Company to defeat our enemy. It is the only thing that matters now." She turned back to Yara. "We will pay as much as necessary."

"The Golden Company was actually founded by a Targaryen over a century ago," someone said. This voice seemed to her strangely familiar. "It will be a pleasure for us to fight on your side, your Grace."

There was a stir among the guests, and after a moment, the author of those words passed next to Theon Greyjoy and stood before the queen. Dany sighed, recognizing her former friend.

"Daario Naharis," she muttered.

"My Queen." He kissed her hand with the softness of a tender lover he had once been. "You are even more beautiful than when I last saw you."

"When you last saw me, I ordered you to stay in Meereen to keep the peace. Standing here, you oppose to my will."

"Forgive me, your Grace, but you can't expect me to remain passive when you risk your life. My place is by your side."

"You joined the Golden Company. I perceive it as a betrayal to me."

"It's not a betrayal if I am in the Golden Company to fight for you. I will stay with you until the end if you let me."

Dany could not be angry at him. She glanced at her people again and the way Jon was looking at them caught her attention. As if he was jealous. She smiled at Daario with satisfaction.

"I will not take away anyone's chance of dying in the name of faith in me as their queen. Neither will I take away a chance for you to share my joy after I win the war with the dead and then with the living. If you survive the coming battle, there will always be a place for you at my side."

Now they were all with her. Jorah, Daario, Jon. Three men who loved her and who were ready to die for her.

Silence reigned in the room when most people left. Daario, however, did not show any willingness to go.

"You have come a long way, your Grace," he praised her. "With such an army, you are now the queen you always dreamed you would be."

"I haven't got a throne yet, but yes, I've already achieved a lot. It remains to be hoped that I will not lose it soon."

"People die. This is a normal turn of events in the war. Even if you lose everything, promise me you'll never give up."

"I've lost one of my dragons, yet I'm still standing here, ready to fight," she told him. "Of course, I will not give up."

He glanced at her with admiration. Not so long ago she would have let him accompany her on her way to her bedchamber. And although he was still handsome and could make her happy, he was not Jon.

At the end, he left her. He must have been feeling pretty discouraged by her unavailability. Dany wondered if there was no ice in her veins instead of fire. She was sometimes so cold and uncaring. She did not resemble that fearful little girl who had been afraid to wake up the dragon in her brother. Now she was the dragon, and her fire was able to scare everyone away. Even the people she loved.

Perhaps that was what had happened to her father. Maybe he also had rejected all those that had loved him, kept distance and threatened everyone with death. Until he finally had gone crazy. Was such a fate awaiting her too?

Jon had already left but had remained in her thoughts. There was always room for him. He was her family. She should be able to tell the world, boasting that she wasn't alone anymore and that she was still capable of loving. She wanted to prove to the world that she did not care only about power and her own good. But Jon did not want to be with her. The only man who had re-released the good in her heart decided to hurt her instead of giving her happiness.

"Your eyes are filled with sadness, Khaleesi," Jorah said, surprising her. "Is there something I can do to make you feel better?"

Although her heart was broken and its pieces were hurting her from the inside, Dany managed to smile. She hugged Jorah, pressing her cheek to his chest. She felt his heartbeat. The heart that was beating for her, even if she would never reciprocate that love.

"There is one thing." She kissed his cheek. "Do not die."

She hoped he would survive. Jorah, but also Jon, Tyrion, Missandei, Daario, Grey Worm and above all Drogon and Rhaegal.

If Dany was going to rule the Seven Kingdoms, she needed them all.

* * *

"You betrayed House Stark," Arya said.

"Aye, I did," Theon confirmed, looking down.

"Robb trusted you. He thought of you as a brother."

"I know."

"You beheaded Ser Rodrik."

"Enough, Arya." Sansa could not listen anymore. "Theon helped me escape from Ramsay Bolton. I wouldn't be here now if he didn't."

"Theon is both a Stark and a Greyjoy, just as I am both a Stark and a Targaryen," Jon added. "I forgave him. Sansa did too. Now I'm asking you, Arya, to do the same thing."

Arya was stubborn, but Jon's opinion always had a great impact on her. She put her hand on Ghost's fur and stroked it.

"I don't need forgiveness. It won't bring Robb back to life." Theon's voice was filled with so much despair that Sansa began to sympathize with him. "I made a choice, and I chose wrong. Now I have to live with it."

"Most of the people who we should really blame are dead," Sansa told them. "If it improves your well-being, Theon, I have to tell you that I watched him die. Ramsay. I watched him suffer for what he did to you, me and Rickon. Recently, I and Arya have also avenged our father's death."

When she referred to Ned Stark as their father, she looked at Jon and then Theon, because it was their father too. Maybe not because of blood, but because he had raised them.

"I killed Walder Frey and his whole family," Arya whispered.

Sansa was more surprised by her own reaction than her sister's words. She felt a certain relief that the people, who watched her mother and brother die, were punished in the way they deserved.

"I used to think that the Starks were hard to kill. I even said it to Robb when I last saw him," Jon confessed in a sad voice. "Back then, I didn't know I would never see him again."

"Winter has come and only half of Starks are still here," Bran said. Until now, he had been sitting quietly, looking out the window.

"Lord father, lady mother, Robb, Rickon... They all are gone, but we are still here," Sansa looked at each one of them, feeling tears coming into her eyes. "As long as there is at least one Stark in Winterfell, including both Jon and Theon, the memory of those who are no longer here will remain in this castle, among these walls. As long as we remember, they will never truly leave us."

"The north remembers," Theon muttered.

"The Starks remember," Arya added.

Despite the tears, Sansa felt strong. Winterfell made her strong.

* * *

Bran saw her coming. She walked up the stairs and raised her hand to knock, but she hesitated. He noticed on her face the reflection of her struggle with herself. As she finally knocked on the door of his chamber, he let her come in.

Meera gingerly entered his room. She certainly hadn't expected herself to return to Winterfell so quickly after their last conversation. Their farewell did not belong to the nicest. Meera was angry at him and she absolutely had the right to be. Bran understood her.

"Have you seen me coming?" She asked.

"Yes," he confirmed. "I have also seen your father's conversation with Jon."

Howland Reed had confirmed that Jon had been the son of Lyanna Stark.

"I left you so I could go back to Greywater Watch and be with my family." Meera's voice was bitter. "And you brought me back, with my father, to die here. I'm not going to die for you, Bran."

"You will not die, neither will your dad. I promise."

That was true. Bran saw her returning home with her father. Meera, clearly reassured by his words, took a seat on his bed. Bran was sitting in his wheelchair next to the window, overlooking the courtyard. He saw many people that day. Most of them would die in the battle.

"Do you often see the future?"

"Only fragments. Bodies lying in the snow, people mourning their loved ones, galloping horses of those who come home."

"Do you know your future?"

Bran closed his eyes.

"No, I don't," he lied.

He did not want to worry her. Although Meera believed that the real Bran had died in the cave of Three-Eyed Raven, she still cared about him. He could feel it.

Bran opened his eyes and stared at her. Most of the time he saw glimpses of various events and was barely interested in what was happening at the moment, in front of his eyes. But when he looked at Meera, she was the only one he saw.

"I'm glad you reunited with your family," she told him. "I'm probably more excited than you. I wonder if you feel anything when you see them. In the end, they are your family. You have to feel something. Even you."

His family treated him like he was still Bran. They did not question his emotional involvement, they did not ask about the circumstances of how Bran had become the Three-Eyed Raven. For them, he was still their little brother.

Meera, on the other hand, knew exactly who he had become. She knew how much he had changed. She blamed him for the death of Summer, Jojen, and Hodor. And she was right. It was his fault and he did not even feel sad about it. It was the most annoying thing for her.

"I've seen a lot, Meera. Bad and good things, but mostly bad," he said dully. "I've seen my father losing his head. I've seen my sister being raped by her husband. I've seen my second sister losing her sight and gathering on the street for food. I've seen Robb putting his hands on the bleeding belly of his wife. I've seen my mother falling to the floor with her throat slit. I've seen Jon being killed by his own men. I've seen Rickon with the arrows in his back. The pain of my family rests on me. I feel it all. I've seen it all. When I look at them, I do not see their faces, only their pain. If I allowed myself to feel my own pain, it would kill me. Even I could not bear so much."

She hadn't seen it that way, but now she knew. Sadness clouded her features as she grabbed his hand. Bran looked away. He could not show her gratitude because he did not feel it. He did not need Meera's compassion or understanding. He needed it all to end.

And suddenly he saw what he had been looking for so long. He saw Jon fighting at Hardhome. He saw Daenerys Targaryen's dragons breathing fire. He saw the dagger in Sam Tarly's hand. It made him understand.

"Bran?" Meera leaned over him, concerned. "Are you alright? What did you see?"

"I think I know how to defeat the Night King."


	5. The long night, part II

_Thank you guys for all the reviews, favs and follows! Knowing that someone reads my work and wants more is really helpful when it comes to writing next chapters. I love reading your opinions, but I hope you understand that things can't be explored in the way you would like. The war is starting and there's no time for relationships development. As I've already said, each chapter is for one episode of season 8 and things have to happen fast as they will in the show. I've already wasted so much time for reunions but now the real action begins. Just remember that this fic isn't only about jonerys. This chapter starts the road of killing many characters so prepare yourselves for heartbreak! Enjoy :)_

* * *

 ** _The long night, part II_**

Snow was falling continuously, creating huge snowdrifts. Sansa watched the shovels' movements as her people were cleaning the edges of the castle to facilitate the fights in the upcoming battle. It was getting closer. News of the fall of Last Heart and Karhold had shocked Winterfell. The sound of fighting swords resounded in the air. Men, but also women and children were practicing from morning till late night. Everyone had to be ready. No one could be weak.

Sansa put the hood on her head, feeling cold pouring into her skin through her wet hair. From the place where she stood, she saw the troops set in the ranks behind the gate. Unsullied, Dothraki, Golden Company, Northmen, and House Greyjoy. Two dragons were flying over them, waiting for the command of their queen to breathe fire and kill everything that would get in their way.

The forces were sufficient to win the battle, yet Sansa shivered, wrapping her cloak tighter around herself.

"Impressive, isn't it?"

Jon leaned his fingers in thick gloves against the railing. Sansa had almost forgotten about his presence because of how long they had been standing in silence.

"Terrific," she whispered. There was a slight tremble in her voice.

Ghost's tail brushed her leg as he passed quietly beside them, then stuck his muzzle between the railing and followed their gaze. One of the dragons flew over the castle. Sansa heard the flutter of his wings, saw him in full glory. He was amazing. He didn't cause her fear, rather curiosity.

"It's Rhaegal," Jon explained, keeping his eyes on the dragon. "I think he can sense that I'm a Targaryen. Direwolves and dragons are quite clever. They know who is on their side and who is not. Who can be trusted and who should be killed. They sense danger even when a human is incapable of noticing it."

"I find a little consolation in the fact that they are on our side, though not all of them. The third dragon... He is able to destroy Winterfell, Jon. Our home."

It was her biggest fear. Sansa was afraid that the walls of Winterfell would fall under the influence of blue fire, and only ruins from her house would remain. She was afraid that she would die in the midst of the collapsing walls, or worse, stay alive to see her home being destroyed right in front of her eyes.

"We shed a lot of blood to get Winterfell out of Bolton's hands." Jon stared at her. "We did not surrender then, we will not surrender now."

"You speak like a true Stark," she praised him. "You speak like a son of Lord Eddard Stark. He would be proud of you."

"He would be proud of you as well, knowing that his daughter grew wiser and braver. I didn't appreciate you enough, Sansa. Only now I see the truth. You are a true leader. North belongs to you."

Sansa found difficulty in breathing, looking at Jon with her lips parted. She could feel the snow falling on her cloak and her hair, she could hear the laughter of the fighting men. However, it was hard to pay attention as she was surprised and worried.

"Those people chose you, Jon. They named you their king. The north is yours, not mine."

"The north must be ruled by the rightful Stark. By the child of Lord Eddard Stark. A Stark should be the Warden of the North, a Stark who understands the needs of their people, who fought for Winterfell and who is ready to die in the name of their home. You are Sansa Stark. Whatever the queen decides after she wins the iron throne, you will be either the Warden of the North or the Queen in the North. Either way, the north is yours."

"What about you? What will happen to you?"

Jon looked away, in the direction of the north, from where the army of the dead would come. Sadness glinted in his eyes as snowflakes gleamed on his black hair.

"I don't intend to survive the battle. Bran found a way to beat the Night King. To do so, a sacrifice is crucial. If Melisandre is right and I'm the prince that was promised, I must die in the name of the good of mankind."

"No," she protested, clenching her hand on his. "I won't let you."

"Sansa." He let out a long sigh of despair. "You're the first person I'm telling this because I believe you will respect my decision. When the White Walkers arrive I want you, Arya and Bran to stay in the castle. I want you to take care of your siblings, especially Arya. She will not understand. Please, Sansa, promise me you won't let her leave the castle. Promise me you won't let her fight."

Sansa had no control over Arya, but she would try her best. She nodded, feeling cold tears on her cheeks.

"I promise."

She hugged him, pressing her face to his arm. As if he could feel their pain, a deep growl came from Ghost's throat.

* * *

They gathered in the main room for the last meeting before the fight.

"There are three things that can kill a wight; dragonglass, Valyrian steel, and fire," Jon said, loud enough for everyone to hear. "The White Walkers are immune to fire, but they still can be killed with the rest of mentioned weapons. Ser Davos, did you fulfill my request and give a dragonglass to every person capable of fighting?"

"Aye, I did."

"Good. Killing a White Walker takes out the wights that have been changed by him. This means that the White Walkers should be your main target," he paused for a better effect, "while I will kill the Night King."

So far they had listened to him in silence, but suddenly everyone wanted to say something. The queen glanced at him from the other end of the table.

"Shall you tell us how are you supposed to that, my Lord?" Varys asked, looking at him skeptically.

"My brother Bran found a way to defeat the Night King. Each of the weapons I've already mentioned is able to kill the wights. As we know, the Night King is not so vulnerable to injury. But if I use all the weapons at once, it's highly possible that I will succeed."

They all looked at him as if they thought he was crazy.

"Highly possible, you say," Yara Greyjoy sneered, "but not certain."

"I know that miracles happen when it comes to you, Lord Snow, but even you cannot use three weapons at one time," Tyrion stated.

"I won't be alone. The queen will order her dragons to burn the Night King. Then I'll stick him with dragonglass and Valerian steel. Your Grace, what do you think?"

Their eyes met. He couldn't read anything from her face, her feelings were hidden under the mask of indifference.

"You are not immune to fire," she said. "You will burn with him."

"I am aware of that, but it has to be me. The current owners of the Valyrian Steel Swords include Arya Stark, Sam Tarly, Brienne of Tarth, Jaime Lannister and me. As we have already decided, I will go out into the open field with the army, while the rest remains to protect the castle. I've come to terms with my fate."

"Fate?" Davos stood up, clearly upset. "You are going to get yourself killed! Damn it, Jon, you cannot risk your life."

"There must be another way," Jorah added.

"There is no other way," Jon snapped.

He was tired of the fact that they always wasted their time on quarrels and long conversations instead of getting ready to fight.

"If a boy wants to be a hero, let him," Daario Naharis said, surprising Jon. "One sacrifice in the name of the whole world is a small payment."

"Enough," Dany finally spoke in a cold voice. She stared at him as if she could read him like an open book. "You will not kill the Night King, Jon. I will."

Jon felt as if someone had stabbed him in the back, taking his breath away. He wanted to bend the knee, beg her to change her mind, but he could not move or utter a single word. Fortunately, the others did not let their surprise paralyze them.

"It's a very bad idea, your Grace," Tyrion said as fear crossed his face. "You can't risk your life. You must survive."

"Lord Tyrion is right, your Grace. Your safety is of paramount importance," Missandei told her.

But the queen seemed not to pay attention to any of them. She turned to the window and was standing there for a moment, unmoved by their words, convinced that she was doing the right thing. Jon began to suffer dizzy spells as he walked toward her, passing all these people who thought the queen was losing her senses.

As he approached her, Dany slowly turned to him. Her face was no longer an oasis of peace and indifference. It was full of various emotions, ranging from pain to self-confidence. She did not intend to change her mind.

Taking her hand in his hands, Jon didn't care about the fact that all of the eyes were looking at them. Dany's people had already known about their affair.

"Let me do it, My Queen," he begged. "Let me die for you."

"I don't need you dead. I need you alive." She snatched her hand out of his embrace, and he felt as if she had hit him in the face. "None of us will die, Jon. We'll do it together, you and me. We will use my dragons. I'll fly on Drogon, you on Rheagal. Together we'll kill Viserion again and attack the Night King. You will stick him with your sword, and when Drogon will burn his body, then I will step into the flames and kill the Night King for good."

A silence reigned for a moment, only the sounds of preparation coming from outside were able to be heard. The scent of terror was soaring in the air, so familiar to Jon after all the battles he had survived so far.

Jon was so surprised that it was only after a moment that he realized the full meaning of her words. He was going to fly on the dragon...

"In all this case you two are the most important people. Jon Snow is the leader of the north, and you are the queen of the whole world, your Grace. This is a very risky undertaking," Tyrion stated.

"I am the only person who can enter the flames without any harm to health. I'm not only the queen, Tyrion." Her strong voice seemed to have the power to reach not only their ears but their hearts. "I'm the fire."

"Yet the idea of Jon riding the dragon seems to me to be inadequate. I mean no offense, of course."

"Jon has the right to ride Rhaegal in the coming battle and in each subsequent." Jon felt squeezing in his stomach, knowing what she was going to say. "His name is not Jon Snow. His name is Aegon Targaryen."

Tyrion gave a muffled sound and dropped to a chair. Jon watched other reactions. Yara Greyjoy was intrigued, Jorah stared at him with wide eyes. Varys' face did not betray much, Daario seemed lost in all of this. Grey Worm and Missandei remained unmoved, while Davos caught his head in complete shock.

It was too easy for the queen to reveal something meant to be kept unknown. Jon closed his eyes while walking the room. He knew what they were thinking about him. At first, he had been just a bastard, sent to the Wall in order to no longer dishonor house Stark. And now he was the King in the North, the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and lover of the queen. The queen who was also his aunt.

Jon stopped, suddenly angry like never before. He was angry with Ned for keeping the secret, Catelyn treating him terribly all those years when she had thought he had been a bastard. With Daenerys who could not understand his inner tear. With those fools who could only say wise things but do no good. And especially he was angry with the Red Woman who had brought him back to life and thus involved him in all the things he had no control over.

He rested his hands on the table and looked at them all.

"I know you have a lot of questions and you don't trust me, but I don't care about any of this shit," he started. The words were flowing from his mouth unbrokenly, all the pain and all the anger finally gave way. "Call me what you like. Jon Snow, Aegon Targaryen, Jon Stark-Targaryen. It's not important at all. I don't care about my identity, or your opinion, or what belongs to me because of my name. I do not want to be a king. I want to win the war. That is why I am here. Whether I'm the Prince That Was Promised or not, I'm going to win this war. And I'm going to do it with My Queen." He looked at her. "We will do as you wish, your Grace. We'll kill the Night King. We'll win the war. Together. Not as the king and the queen, not as the last Targaryens. We'll do it as two people who care about the fate of Westeros. Do not think about the future, about the throne, about what you will you do after the war is over. The truth is that most of you, the people who are now in this room, will not survive. So don't think about the future, only about the present. Only this war matters. We must win and we must do it together."

Jon sighed with relief, feeling lighter and stronger. He did not twitch as he watched them rise. First Davos, then Tyrion, then the rest. They all were standing and looking at him with respect. Dany walked around the table and approached him. He did not know what to expect, but he was not afraid. Nothing could hurt him.

Daenerys removed the brooch with the image of a dragon, the one that had been always attached to her coat, and pinned it to Jon's cloak. The corners of her mouth rose in a slight smile.

"You speak like a true king. There is a fire in your veins, while an ice shines in your eyes. But what is in your heart makes people want to follow you. Your courage and your kindness inspire them. Lead them to victory. Be both a wolf and a dragon. Be a leader."

* * *

They were coming from the north. Frightening, powerful, ready to kill every living person. In the end, there was no horizon, only more and more dead men getting closer to Winterfell. Their army seemed to have no end. Finally, they stopped a few dozen meters from Daenerys Targaryen's troops. They were waiting.

With them had come cold and darkness. The cold was hard to bear, the sky covered by the dark clouds. Snow was still falling, making it difficult to see. But nothing could hide the large blue dragon that hovered over the army of the dead.

"If I die, according to the predictions of Bran Stark, burn my corpse," Jaime said, trembling. "Immediately."

"Only if you promise that you will do the same for me," Bronn responded.

"I have a better idea," the Hound told them. "I'm just gonna kick your asses and feed dragons with your pitiful cocks if you don't shut your fucking mouths."

Brienne could not help but smile, though the situation itself was rather tragic than funny. Death was near and it was blowing on them with its cold breath.

Their purpose was to protect the castle in case the army of the dead would break through the troops standing on their way. Several men of the queen stood in the courtyard while Brienne, Jaime, Bronn, the Hound, and Podrick were observing the battle from the landing. Inside the castle stayed Lady Sansa, Bran Stark, Meera Reed, Missandei and Sam Tarly with his family. Brienne looked at Arya who, clearly upset, was walking in the courtyard. She wanted to go fight, but Jon forbade her. Brienne decided to keep an eye on her. Arya was unpredictable and threatening, so she could not be ignored.

"Dragons don't have time to eat their cocks," Tyrion Lannister said, approaching them. "They will be too busy burning the dead men. May they not die among the living."

"I thought you would leave to fight on the open field with the queen." Jaime looked at his brother.

"I've done everything in my power to help her. Now I have to wait for her return. All in all, I am glad that if I die, I will do this among the people I love."

"You make me want to vomit." The Hound winced. "You are such cunts, all of you."

As he descended from the bridge, Brienne made sure that Arya was not gone. Suddenly she felt the lightest touch of Jaime's fingers on her cheek. But before he could say anything, his eyes widened in astonishment. Brienne followed his gaze. Lannister armies were coming from the south.

"Cersei," Jaime whispered.

"Is she here to help us or to kill us?" Tyrion seemed as surprised as his brother.

"I guess we'll find out soon," Brienne said.

She gently grabbed Jaime's hand to comfort him, and he interlaced their fingers with each other. Whatever was about to come, they would face it together.

When Brienne looked back at the courtyard, Arya had been already gone. So had been the Hound.

* * *

"Do you see something new?"

"No, Sam. You've already asked me about it at least ten times."

Bran could not get rid of the impression that they were sitting there, locked in the castle, like animals waiting for slaughter. Gilly rocked her child in her arms, humming a song. Samwell Tarly was constantly walking from place to place, unable to sit anywhere for more than a few minutes.

No more visions were coming to him. Bran had already known enough. He knew how to beat the Night King and who would do it, though he hadn't shared all the information with Jon.

There were things Bran had to leave for himself. He met Meera's gaze. She suspected that he was hiding something, that he wasn't completely honest with them, he saw it in her eyes. And yet she did not ask any questions. She was sitting quietly, beside him, holding a dagger in her hand. He knew that if needed, she would stand in his defense. As always. But she could not protect him from what was waiting for him. No one could.

"Jon Snow will return, my Lady," Missandei said to Sansa. "So will the Queen."

Sansa had not spoken a word since Jon had left. She was looking out the window at the armies of their men and their enemies. She seemed to be far away from there with her thoughts. But as Lady Stark should, she smiled politely at Missandei.

"Yes, they will. I'm praying for their return."

Looking at his sister, Bran remembered months before Robb had left to fight in the war. He had been the Lord of Winterfell and behaved as the Lord. Back then, Bran would miss his real brother. Now, looking at Sansa, he felt nothing.

"Lady Arya will be back soon too," Sam assured her.

"She would kill you if she found out that you called her Lady."

Sansa's forced smile was one of the saddest things the world had ever seen. Bran closed his eyes and saw the Night King flying on a blue dragon. And then he saw the queen who was staring at her dead dragon. At her side, Jon was standing.

"They are ready," Bran said, opening his eyes. "The fight will soon begin."

"Is it how it starts?" Sansa looked at him. She spoke in a whisper. "The long night?"

The images flew before his eyes, but they were too blurred for him to understand their full message. He only saw the details. Fangs of the direwolfs. Dragon wings. Brown hair scattered on snow around a woman's head. Blood on the sword and on the woman's hands. He later began to recognize some of the people. Ser Jorah carrying someone's body. Fire around Jon. Sansa's tears. Tyrion kneeling in the snow.

He came back to the reality when the door opened violently and Red Woman entered the room. Behind her stood Brienne of Tarth.

"I could not stop her, my Lady," Brienne told Sansa. "There are two more problems. Firstly, I do not know where Arya is. Secondly, Cersei Lannister arrived in Winterfell."

Sansa came out of the room, behind her Brienne and Missandei, but Bran barely noticed it. He looked at Melisandre, who bent over him.

Meera pushed forward, ready to attack, but Bran held her hand.

"No, she won't hurt me," he said, then turned to Red Woman. "You have come a long way because you know the identity of the Prince That Was Promised. It's not Jon. You want to show it to me."

"I won't show you, I will tell you," she answered in a mysterious voice. "Both Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen play an important role, but the prophecy is not about them. It's about their son."

"Son?" Sam murmured, clearly too confused to say anything more.

Red Woman walked to the window. Bran understood everything. Parts of the puzzle formed a whole. Everything finally made sense.

"Azor Ahai will return in the form of the child. The child of Daenerys Targaryen and Aegon Targaryen," Melisandre explained, turning to look at them. "The queen is pregnant."

* * *

Viserion hovered over the army of the dead. His wings were moving in slow, systematic movements. He was now blue, the same color as his fire. He didn't belong to her anymore. It was no longer her child.

She stood between Drogon and Rhaegal. They moved uneasily, looking at their dead brother. Dany did not know how she could assure them that everything was right. Nothing was right.

"I'm sorry about Viserion," Jon whispered.

"They took him away from me. Now I'll take him away from them. Even if it means killing my own child."

Jon's eyes were filled with sadness but overall he seemed stronger than ever. Once he accepted his fate, he became someone who deserved the names of both Houses, he was both a Stark and a Targaryen. He stroked the fur of his direwolf who was at his side, ready to fight.

Dany stretched out her hand, looking at the snowflakes that landed on her fingers. The snow was invisible among her silver hair. Although winter was a challenge for her people, who were not well prepared for that kind of weather, Dany did not feel cold. Her own fire was warming her up.

"You must go back to Sansa, Arya, and Bran." Jon crouched before his direwolf and spoke to him as if his friend could understand him. "They need you more than me, Ghost."

Ghost licked his face in response. Dany smiled, moved by the bond that Jon had with his direwolf. He once had told her how he and his family had found a bunch of direwolves. Each Stark had his own, but only two of them had survived to this day.

"Let him stay," she said. "He may be useful in the fight on the ground. You will have a view of him from above."

Jon stood up and looked at Rhaegal, probably nervous at the thought of riding him. Pink crept onto his cheeks, caused by the cold. Snow was shining in his black hair. Dany was not thinking about what she was doing. She just laid her hands on his chest and kissed him on the lips.

She was afraid that he would push her away, but he didn't. He put his hand on her neck and pressed her against him, kissing her gently. It seemed as though sparks were jumping around them, that they were standing among the flames while the rest of the world was engulfed in the cold darkness.

When their lips parted, their cold and heavy breaths mingled with each other. Jon leaned over and pressed his forehead to hers, and for a moment they were standing there, listening to their own heartbeats. Her hand found his.

"I have never wanted to hurt you." His voice was little more than a murmur.

"I know, Jon. I know."

"When all of this is over... I do not want to fight anymore. I do not want to fight my feelings. I want us. I want you."

Dany softly touched his cheek with her lips. She could not let herself cry. She let go of Jon's hand and approached Drogon. He was beautiful with his black-red scales and wings and orange-red eyes. Jon helped her get in. Once she sat down on her dragon, she felt invincible. It was her place.

"Join me in a moment," she turned to Jon.

"I have no experience, your Grace."

Seen from above, he looked innocent, not knowing how to behave. He glanced at Rhaegal, who was watching his mother.

"You don't need experience, Jon. You're a Targaryen and he knows it."

She looked at him for the last time, and Drogon rose to the air. Dany felt a familiar blast of wind, the power all over her body. She was the queen of dragons. She was invincible.

Drogon's mighty wings waved in the air as he flew toward his dead brother. As for the sign, the armies of the dead moved forward. Moments later, Daenerys' people began fighting. The war started.

Daenerys looked straight at the Night King as she ordered, "Dracarys."


	6. Win or die, part I

_Warning: Both parts of the chapter contain major characters deaths!_

* * *

 ** _Win or die, part I_**

People around him were dying, one by one. Intense redness of blood contrasted with clean snow. Limbs and heads separated from bodies, eyes staring invisibly into the dark sky, swords protruding from chests.

Ghost did not wait for Jon's orders. He immediately rushed to the attack as soon as the wights managed to break through toward Jon. Shattering their bony bodies, direwolf threw them to the ground as if they were nothing but rubbish. Rhaegal also quickly joined the fight. He breathed fire, taking an example from his brother flying over them.

Jon took out Longclaw from his scabbard and killed every opponent that stood in his way. With satisfaction, he watched as their bodies scattered into tiny pieces. Nearly to Jon, Davos was fighting with dragonglass in his hand. There was blood on his shoulder caused by a forged wound. Dondarrion waved his burning sword, not afraid to face death he had greeted many times. Jon also noticed Gendry, but the boy quickly disappeared in the snow.

It was no longer a gentle snowfall. It was a blizzard that hindered vision, made clothes dewy, and created huge snowdrifts hard to pass. There was no help from the fire that was blowing from each side and was intensified by the strong wind.

"If the dead do not kill us, this fucking weather will do it instead," Tormund said, appearing suddenly next to Jon.

"That's why we have to end it as soon as possible."

Snow was blowing into his eyes as Jon headed for Rhaegal. Deep in his heart, he felt that his place was on the ground, among his people. He should fight with Ghost by his side, wielding a sword in his hand. That was his role as Jon Stark. But Targaryen should fly on the dragon and attack from above. Like Daenerys.

The thought of her gave him strength. Rhaegal swiveled as Jon approached him. He was no longer breathing fire, his big eyes focused on Jon. The world around them froze. Although Jon's heart belonged to House Stark and Winterfell, when he touched green and bronze colored scales of Rhaegal, he couldn't get rid of a thought that his whole life had been leading him to this very moment.

Under his touch, Rhaegal lowered slightly. Never before had anyone been flying on him, and now he was letting Jon do it. Having received permission, Jon climbed onto the dragon. He was trembling as he hid his sword into the scabbard and laid his hands on the back of the dragon, hoping not to fall.

When he was sitting in a quite comfortable position, at least bearable considering the circumstances, he met Tormund's puzzled glance.

"Don't say that you intend to ride a damn dragon," he muttered.

"Aye, I think I do." Jon smiled, hardly believing it was really happening.

"You are a crazy man, Jon Snow. I like it." Tormund shrugged. "Just don't get yourself killed."

"You too."

Jon did not know exactly how to give Rhaegal a sign, but it was not necessary. As if sensing his readiness, the dragon fluttered its wings and began to float. Jon had to hold on not to fall, but his fear vanished as soon as they left the ground.

It was an amazing feeling. Wind in the hair, pleasant emptiness around, the sound of fluttering wings, Rhaegal's body moving in a systematic rhythm. It made him fully understand Daenerys and her love for the dragons.

He finally saw her. She was riding Drogon, her small figure barely perceptible. Her dragon blew fire towards his dead brother. Orange-red fire met with blue. Jon leaned over, pointing Rhaegal to attack Viserion from the other side. Then he noticed the Night King. An ice spear was shining in his blue hand, his eyes focused on Daenerys.

Jon could swear that his heart stopped beating for a moment. Feeling his fears, Rhaegal breathed fire towards Viserion, who was too busy attacking Drogon to see his second brother. Viserion's blue wing caught fire and Jon allowed himself a breath of relief. And then he saw the ice spear cross the air and find Drogon in the accumulation of fire and snow.

If anyone was watching from below, perhaps they could see the tragedy in the sky, the tragedy that seemed to happen in a slow motion. The burning Viserion fell down with his leader still on the back, but Jon hardly noticed it, watching with horror as Drogon helplessly waved his wings trying to keep himself in the air. And then Rhaegal roared painfully as his mother slipped from the dragon.

They couldn't waste time. Rhaegal moved toward the queen, and Jon leaned out as much as he could, hoping he would reach her. Drogon flew right next to them and hit the ground with a loud bang, probably killing many people. Daenerys was getting closer to the ground and at the last moment, Jon managed to grab her hand. Their horrified glances met in the longest seconds of Jon's life.

Then they both fell into the wet, cold snow.

* * *

"You will have us both killed, stupid girl."

"If you are afraid of death, then return to the castle. I don't need you here."

The Hound grabbed her arm violently and turned her around, forcing her to stop and look him in the face.

"You think you are some kind of a special person just because you are a trained killer. You think that if you have taken many lives, it means you are unstoppable, that you can't die. Do you remember what people were saying about your brother Robb? They were saying that he was a wolf and that he couldn't be killed. And where is he now?" He shook her by the arms, repeating, "Where is he now?"

"Leave me alone!"

Arya broke free of his grip, pulling out the dagger. The same one she had used to kill Littlefinger, the one that once had belonged to him. She found her hands trembling, but if she had to kill Sandor Clegane in order to find Jon, she would not hesitate. Something had happened to the dragons. She had to make sure her brother was all right.

The Hound did not even try to defend himself. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked defiantly at her.

"Come on," he encouraged her. "If you want to kill me, just do it. I'm tired of your bullshit."

"Why don't you understand that I have to get to my brother?" Arya hated her voice for sounding so desperate. "He needs me."

"No, he does not. You think your brother, who has probably killed more people than you and once died himself, needs you, but you do not even think about your other brother and your sister. About your fucking family who remains in the castle. Your brother can't walk, he can't defend himself, and your sister... she might be brave but she has never wielded a sword. You should be with them now instead of risking your life here. Just think that you risk your siblings lives as well."

Arya wiped tears away from her face with an impatient gesture, but before she could say or do anything, dozens of ice creatures came out of nowhere. She had never seen anything like that before. They were frightening with their pale, gaunt, mummified appearance and glowing blue eyes. The fearful stories of Old Nan had become reality.

They moved all the way around them, leaving no traces on the snow. Sandor approached Arya, pulling out his sword.

"We're fucked," he said.

There was nothing more to add. When they attacked, Arya remembered all the lessons she had learned in her life.

She was moving like a dancer, barely touching snow with her feet. She was killing the wights like a skilled knight. She was avoiding the attacks without needing armor. She was using a dagger, slashing her opponents in every possible place.

On contact with Valerian steel, the bodies of the wights scattered into pieces and then turned into fine powder. The Hound fought with dragonglass, but even if they both were good, a number of enemies kept raising. The wights were coming from all directions. Dreadful, not afraid of anything, ready to kill them and then recruit them to the army of the dead. Arya swallowed and looked at the castle. At least she would die in Winterfell. At home.

But death hadn't come. Not yet. Instead, a pack of wolves arrived. Their fur was slightly darker than snow, their mouths open, their paws getting ready to jump. Arya held her breath as the wolves attacked, ripping apart the bodies of their enemies. Sandor stepped back, lowering his sword. He talked to her, but Arya did not pay any attention to him. She fell on her knees as one of the wolves came up to her.

Arya reached out her hand and timidly touched the direwolf's fur. First with her fingertips, then with her whole hand. It was soft to the touch, but also cold and quite different than she remembered. Nymeria had not retreated. Although she did not belong to Arya anymore, she came here to fight by her old friend's side. When Arya needed her most, she came.

"You're home," Arya whispered. "One last time."

As she looked up, she met Sandor's glance. He did not look at her as always as if she had been a strange creature he had not understand and had not wanted to. His usual angry face was filled with sincere sadness. For the first time, he did not know what to say. Arya smiled at him.

"We should go back. Sansa and Bran need us."

* * *

Three dragon eggs lay in front of her on the sand. Black, green and gold. Daenerys ran a hand through each of them. They were warm and when her fingers touched the crust, the eggs seemed to be bustling with life. Suddenly, the winds started to blow on the desolated desert. Snow was falling; white as her hair, cold and shiny. Dany felt a surge of fear creeping under her skin and squeezing her heart. Cracks appeared on the eggs. Three little dragons stuck out their heads, looking at her for a moment.

Her children were too beautiful to put it into words. Daenerys had never loved anyone as much before. However, her happiness did not last long. The white-peach colored dragon fluttered its wings and flew away without hesitation. Dany stretched out her hand, but no word left her mouth as she watched her child leave.

Viserion was gone.

The black dragon sat down on her outstretched hand. He nuzzled the top of her hand and Daenerys sensed that he did not want to leave her. With him, she felt the strongest bond. As through the mist, she saw herself flying on him and commanding him to breathe fire. And then he left, never looking back.

Drogon was gone.

The green dragon was still sitting in the egg and watching his brothers disappear among the snowflakes. Tears filled her eyes as Dany picked up Rhaegal and hugged him to her face. He did not intend to leave her, but she felt like they were about to lose each other despite the lack of their willingness.

"My Queen... Daenerys..."

The voice was familiar. It belonged to someone who was very important to her, almost as important as her dragons. He called her. No, he did not call. He tried to wake her up.

She closed her eyes, remembering what she would rather forget. If only she could not go back, but she had no choice. Dany felt the cold penetrating through her clothes, touching the exposed parts of her body. At first, she could not breathe, struggling with the overwhelming feeling of not only cold but also despair. When she finally regained the air supply, she took a deep breath, opening her eyes. She was laying on Jon's lap, pressed to his chest in order to warm her up. On each side they were surrounded by snow, the sounds of the battle could be heard. She heard something else. The mournful moan of her dragon.

"Where is he?" She uttered a loud cry. "Where is Drogon? Where is my child?"

"I'm so sorry," Jon whispered.

No, that could not be true. Dany remembered how Drogon had lost his balance, hit with the ice spear. She remembered how she had begun to fall, losing her breath. She remembered Jon's hand and then cold snow as they had fallen together. And yet, she could not believe it. Ignoring Jon's protests, she jumped to her feet. She walked with a stagger, feeling cold in every part of her body, pain in her heart.

He couldn't be dead. Not Drogon.

Viserion was the first child she saw. Or rather, she saw his remnants. His blue body was broken into pieces, yet she recognized him without a problem. There was no trace of the person who had been riding him. The person who had taken Viserion away from his mother and his brothers. Dany clenched her fists and went on, knowing that if she stopped for a longer time, she would never find the strength to keep on living.

Jon followed her and finally grabbed her by the arm, wanting her to look at him. But even Jon could not protect her from the cruel truth. She made a screaming cry when she saw Rhaegal. He was leaning over his brother's body. He did not have any injuries, but he looked miserable. Despair could be seen in his eyes and heard in his moan full of sadness. Dany's touch calmed him a little when she laid her hand on his muzzle without taking her eyes off Drogon.

Tears streamed down her face as she watched her dead child. Drogon's eyes were staring at the emptiness, his mouth open, his wings unmoving. She would never ride him again. Her beloved dragon had left and had not taken her with him.

Dany heard a sorrowful scream and it took her a moment to realize that it was her own. All the pain overwhelmed her, forcing her to kneel in the cold snow and scream until her voice would fall silent forever. Jon knelt beside her and took her in his arms. Even his familiar warmth could not soothe her pain. Even Rhaegal's presence could not give her the impression that not all was lost. Even the people around her could not convince her that she was still important.

"The body has to be burn," Jon said softly, "before it's too late."

He took her face in his hands and forced her to look at him. Dany stopped screaming, taking a deep breath to clear her mind. The war was not over yet, and she was still the queen.

"Where is the Night King?" She asked. Her voice seemed to come from a distance.

"I do not know. Listen to me, Daenerys." He had never called her by her name before. Dany felt a sudden indifference as if she was no longer capable of feeling positive emotions. As if part of her had died with Drogon. "I know what you feel. I know your heart is broken, that every breath seems to be the hardest thing you have ever done. I know that you doubt everything that you have believed in and what you have been striving for, but you have to be strong. You are still the queen and you have to know that these people who are fighting around us believe in you. I believe in you, My Queen." His finger touched her lips as he stroked her cheek. "When we met, you said that it was faith in yourself that had helped you survive. Believe in yourself again. Believe in Daenerys Targaryen."

Dany felt the weight on her heart, too heavy to bear on her own, but she wasn't alone. She nodded and rose from the snow. Jon held her hand as she approached Rhaegal.

"Dracarys," she ordered just before her voice broke.

At her command, Rhaegal set Drogon on fire. Dany watched him through tears, every pulse of her heart beating out the words she could not say.

* * *

Cersei Lannister resembled a perfect statue, carved in ice to show the world its strengths. The face was emotionless, her mouth set in a hard line, the silhouette simple and dignified. Her cold eyes wandered over the faces of the people she hated, but she did not allow herself any reaction.

For every person who did not know the queen personally, Cersei was an oasis of cool calm. Someone who was able to be courteous and formal while sentencing a man to death, and then sleeping peacefully in the night, not persecuted by remorse. Of course, it was true, but Cersei had more complex personality and only a few could see her feelings under the mask of indifference. One of them was Tyrion.

People usually assumed that Cersei had the emotional maturity and wisdom of a queen, but in fact, she was just a ruthless, willful woman with poor leadership. Tyrion could read her like an open book. It seemed to him that in the last few weeks his sister had become old. Her beauty faded, leaving behind long years of glory. Madness and desire for revenge lurked in her eyes. Tyrion knew why she was there and he knew that the whole matter would not end without bloodshed. The three Lannisters, once a family, found themselves in the situation in which their fate was predetermined. Someone had to die.

It was cold, wet and windy. Perfect weather for family quarrels, Tyrion thought. If he said it out loud, his voice would be very bitter.

They were standing in the courtyard while the battle was taking place behind the walls of the castle. With Bronn and Podrick by his side, Tyrion glanced at Sansa, at her flushed cheeks because of cold and at her face filled with both fear and uncertainty. Sansa was not stupid. She knew Cersei had bad intentions. Tyrion could not guess Jaime's reaction though. He stood opposite to Cersei in the company of Brienne. They were surrounded by a dozen of Daenerys' people. Cersei had not only the Mountain behind her but also all her armies ready to enter the castle and kill them all. Tyrion sighed. They had no chance.

"I guess you did not come here to help us win the war, sister," Tyrion dared to speak, while everyone else remained silent. "I believe that we can discuss it calmly with a glass of wine and a plate of lamb in mushroom sauce. Such a solution would be less... bloody."

"Oh, I want it to be bloody." Cersei looked at him and if her eyes could kill someone, Tyrion would have been already dead. "The death of all of you is the only thing I'm dreaming of right now."

"Cersei," Jaime started, taking a step toward her. "You must have seen it. You must have seen the army of the dead, their number and the cruelty. You cannot ignore it. You cannot focus on your twisted sense of justice when the world is falling apart."

"You're a fool if you think that I care about the world. I've lost everything, I have nothing to fight for. The world can fall, I can fall... but I will take you all with me."

Brienne reached for her sword, watching carefully as Jaime took another step. Tyrion felt a sudden sharp pain in his chest. It could not end well.

"What about your child? Our child?"

Jaime was torn internally. Tyrion could see it on his face, the fight he was going through with himself. However, Tyrion believed in his brother and that he would do the right thing. Cersei smiled, but her smile was devoided of any joy. She was gazing at the man she had loved all her life.

"My child is gone because of you," Cersei said in a cold voice. "Because you left me. All of my children are gone. They were never really yours. You didn't love them."

"How can you say that? Myrcella died in my arms. I watched my child die! I absolutely loved them. I couldn't raise them, I couldn't be their father, but I did love them!"

"Your assurance of love is worth nothing. You told me you loved me, yet you left me with a baby in my belly, you chose our enemies instead of me. I was supposed to be your everything. You were my everything."

"Through your words speaks hypocrisy." Tyrion held his breath as he heard Sansa's voice. "You blame everyone for all the horrible things that have happened to you, but you have never taken to a consideration that the person you really ought to blame has always been you."

Tyrion felt his fear paralyze him, suggest the darkest scenarios, take away a chance to breathe properly. Just not Sansa. He was ready to throw himself at her and cover her with his own little body, if necessary. He could not lose her, just as he could not lose Jaime. It was only now that it reached him. He had deeper feelings for her than he had thought so far.

"Sansa," Cersei snorted, "it's been a while. I watched your father lose his head. I'm sure you remember that day. Now I will watch the same fate meet his daughter." She turned to her people. "Kill them. Kill them all."

But before any sword could get dirty, allies of house Stark appeared to Lady Stark's rescue. Lyanna Mormont, though she was a little girl, slightly taller than Tyrion, looked extremely threatening in fur, with her sword in her hand and her people behind her back. At her side, Jorah and Varys were standing. Seeing familiar faces, Tyrion felt a rush of hope.

Alarmed by the arrival of the Lannister armies, Greyjoys came back from the battlefield, ready to face another enemy. As if that was not enough, a pack of wolves ran through the gate. Tyrion saw a relief on Sansa's face and followed her gaze. With wolves came Arya Stark and Sandor Clegane, covered with blood and wet from the snow. Arya was accompanied by two direwolfs, one of them belonged to Jon Snow. Direwolves flashed their fangs and sharp teeth at Cersei, giving a long howl.

Tyrion turned to look back at his sister. She did not seem so confident and convinced of her victory anymore. Although she still had a numerical advantage, more and more people could come in at any moment. People who would willingly contribute to her downfall.

"Think carefully, Cersei," he begged, approaching his sister. "No one has to die."

"Many Lannisters have already died," she replied, blinded by her own pride, too stubborn to admit that Tyrion had a point. "Our mother, our father, Joffrey, Myrcella, Tommen, even my unborn child. Now it's your turn."

It was loud when the fight began, but Tyrion barely paid attention. He concentrated on a few people standing next to him. Jaime, Brienne, Cersei, Sansa. It seemed that the world was narrowing down to these five people, including him. Nothing else mattered, but these five people not knowing whether they were going to survive or lose.

Suddenly Jaime surprised him completely. He drew his sword and pointed it towards Cersei. The edge of Widow's Wail and Cersei's chest were only centimeters apart.

"Ironic, isn't it?" Cersei whispered. "You want to kill me with the sword of our son."

Tyrion saw the pain in her eyes. She had really expected Jaime to change his mind and come back to her. Tyrion almost started to feel sorry for her. He knew what it was like to not be loved by your own family.

Ser Gregor did not come to defend his queen. As it was too suspicious, Tyrion turned and in the same moment he saw Sandor Clegane holding his brother from behind, and Arya Stark slicing his throat. Cersei gasped, too surprised to say anything.

"It's over." Jaime's voice was soft, but his hand still firmly clenched on the sword's handle. "Do not make me do this."

"I once heard a prophecy. It told me that I would marry a king, that I would lose all of my children and that a beautiful young queen would take my place." Cersei spoke without emotion, and even if she was staring at Jaime, Tyrion was sure that she did not see him. "I thought this queen would be Margaery, but killing her did not solve the problem. Then came the Targaryen bitch. Maybe she did not take the throne, but she took my brothers, took my people, my world." Cersei closed her eyes, taking a step closer. The blade touched her chest. "The prophecy also said that I would die at the hand of _valonqar._ It means little brother." She opened her eyes to look at Tyrion. "I've always thought that you would be the one to kill me. Yet I hesitated when we last saw each other. I had the chance to kill you and I did not. Now I know that you have never meant to be my end, Tyrion. It's Jaime. It has always been you, Jaime. My twin brother, born seconds after me. My little brother."

"Cersei," Jaime spoke her name in one breath.

His hand shuddered as Cersei took another step forward. The blade sank in her chest, but not enough to kill her. A moan left her mouth, but she did not step back. Neither did Jaime.

"Have you ever loved me? Was it easy to leave me for this poor imitation of a woman? Can she make you happy the way I used to?"

"I loved you until I realized that this love was toxic. You seem to have loved our children, but you are not capable of true, sincere love. You did not give me happiness. You gave me hypocrisy, manipulation, you controlled me in every possible way. It ends now. You can join our children." The sword sank into Cersei's body, taking her breath away. "And this woman's name is Brienne."

A single tear slid down Cersei's cheek as Jaime drew Widow's Wail from her chest. Cersei put her hands on her belly, where the blood stain was growing.

"Jaime," she muttered.

Tyrion watched in complete shock as his sister slumped to her knees. Famous Cersei Lannister, the woman who had survived longer than any of her child, the invincible woman. Now she fell on the snow like a rag doll, which was stripped of its cord. Her empty gaze stuck in the sky. Tyrion knelt and shut his sister's eyes. He did not feel sadness, rather a heavy burden on his heart.

She was his family after all.


	7. Win or die, part II

_This chapter was by far the most difficult to write. Never before had I killed so many characters in one chapter. I hesitated whether to kill some of my favorites and I hope that the writers will let them survive the show. Enjoy and forgive me!_

* * *

 ** _Win or die, part II_**

The times of innocence, when the Starks had been playing in the fluffy snow at Winterfell, not afraid what the future might bring, seemed so distant, almost untrue. Winterfell no longer resembled the place where Sansa felt safe. Her home had become a gathering of chaos, brutality, and sadness. Death could be seen everywhere.

Cersei Lannister was laying in the snow, calm, still, with the blood spilling around her. The woman who had contributed to many terrible things, who had been believed to be the most powerful person in the whole kingdom, was now nothing. There was no life in her body. Her words and actions were no longer able to hurt anyone. Sansa did not feel anything when she looked at the face of the woman who had once allowed her son to hurt Sansa when she had been just a little girl. The woman who had been responsible for Ned Stark's death, who had killed Margaery Tyrell and who had done much more than that.

Apparently, in this cruel world, something akin to justice existed.

The death of the queen brought a short silence. Because of losing their leader, the Lannister armies' role in the war started to be questioned. But before anybody could resume the battle between the living or propose an agreement, the real war began. Sansa held her breath as the gate fell down, crushing two of Lannister's men.

It was as if her worst assumptions were fulfilled. Dozens of the dead broke into the courtyard, climbed the walls of the castle, attacked every living man that stood in their way.

The Houses did not matter anymore. At the time of death, everyone was equal.

Oathkeeper cut the air as Brienne quickly found herself in front of Sansa, ready to protect Lady Stark at any cost. Sansa was looking for Arya when someone's hand clenched on her shoulder.

"Come on, little bird," Sandor Clegane said. "You're not safe here."

No one was. She knew what he meant. The best thing for her was to get away, hide in the castle, wait until the storm would pass. Bran was inside, in his chambers, while Arya fought in the courtyard. Sansa could be with only one of them. She was not a warrior. She could not kill, she could not protect those she loved. If she decided to leave, she would be safe, but she would not be sure whether she would ever see Arya, Tyrion, or Brienne again.

"What about my sister?"

"If there is someone here who can take care of themselves, slay a lot of dead men and be an annoying shit at the same time, it's your sister. Let her do her thing, while you will do yours."

"And what exactly is my thing?"

"Surviving."

The Hound had never ceased to amaze her. Although his words always sounded as if he spit them out with pure hatred, his touch was exceptionally gentle when he led her to the castle.

Immediately after closing the door, she realized that something was wrong. Sandor drew his sword and walked slowly through the dark corridor, and Sansa was sure her heart could just pop out of her chest in any minute. There was a smell of blood in the air. When Sansa stepped on the stairs, she heard the sound of ice cracking under her feet. Suddenly, the Hound stopped and grabbed her hand tighter.

"Don't look," he warned her, but it was too late.

Despite the darkness, it was quite easy to notice two bodies laying on the stairs. Woman and man, both with black skin. The man's face was hard to recognize, his features barely visible under the mass of blood. A woman had her head placed on the man's chest as if she had died while mourning him. Her hair was sticky from the wound on her head, but except that she had no other injuries. When Sansa, ignoring Sandor's opposition, took a step forward, she recognized the woman's identity. It was the same person who just an hour ago had assured her that Jon would come back. Missandei.

"I was not fast enough." Sam's trembling voice resounded in the corridor. As he came out of the shade, entering the light shining through the window, Sansa saw the greatness of suffering on his face. "I couldn't save them, My Lady. I couldn't."

"Shall you tell me what happened here?"

"Grey Worm, the leader of Unsullied, battled the wights but failed to stop them from breaking into the castle. They walked up the wall, wanting to enter through the windows. Grey Worm came to us and told us to stay in Lord Bran's chamber and then went out to meet the enemies. Missandei ran after him. I... I think she loved him. The sound of the fight was scary. I knew I had to protect my family. I ran out of the chamber and killed the last wight but..." His voice broke, his gaze stuck in the dead couple. "They were dead. The last thing I heard was the cry of Missandei."

"You did everything you could, Sam," Sansa assured him, well aware of the pain he must have felt. "There is nothing more you can do for them. We have to return to Bran and your family."

Sam looked at her differently, as if he knew something and was afraid to confess the truth. Sansa realized that breathing suddenly became extremely difficult. When she thought about her brother, anxiety overwhelmed her senses. The Hound tried to grab her hand, but she was already running up the stairs, seeing nothing, hearing nothing, with her heart squeezed by never-ending fear.

When she pushed the door, she saw what she had never expected to see. She saw the Red Woman standing by the window and looking at the battle with cool calm as if she was only a quiet observer of something that did not even bother her. She saw Meera hiding her face in her hands. Her shoulders were shuddering, but no sound came from her mouth. At last, she saw Bran, but it was not Bran anymore. His eyes had no iris, his head tilted back, his face expressionless.

Sansa felt her knees bend, she could no longer stand on her own. She took Bran's cold hands in hers, and though she had not prayed for a long time, she was ready to pray to her last breath just to get her brother back.

"He moved his consciousness to the body of the Night King. In this way, he weakened his opponent, allowing Jon and Daenerys for a complete annihilation of the army of the dead," Melisandre explained blankly. "It's an act of heroism, I must admit. When the Night King dies, your brother will die with him. It's a beautiful sacrifice. Bran Stark will be remembered as a hero."

"I don't want him to be a hero," Sansa snapped, filled with too many emotions to bear them on her own. "I want him to be alive."

"I'm sorry for your loss. You are too young to carry so much pain. You've lost your loved ones, but do not let those losses break you, Lady Stark. You are the last child of Eddard Stark. You are the last wolf."

She ran out of air again, but this time she did not want to get it back. As she fully understood the Red Woman's words, Sansa wanted her heart to stop beating. In doing so, the pain would finally disappear.

Arya. Sansa had left her sister on the battlefield, among the wolves, believing that she would manage to survive. But being the last wolf could mean only one thing. Not only Bran was gone, but also Arya.

It broke her completely. Sam put his hand on her shoulder as she lost herself in a complete despair.

* * *

Bran was laying in the snow, cloudy sky over him. He looked at his hands. They were bony, blue as if made of ice. Then he slowly stood up. For the last time, he could walk. It had worked. He had sent his consciousness into the mind of the Night King.

He made his way toward three dragons: one shattered to pieces, one absorbed by flames and one mourning his brothers. When Jon noticed him, Bran stopped. Part of him wanted to speak to Jon just to say goodbye. In the face of death, Bran felt the last connection with his former self. As if he became Bran Stark again.

It made him think about all the people he had lost. He thought of his father smiling at him from the railing as Bran had been learning how to shoot with a bow. He thought of this mother sitting next to his bed and holding his hand while he had been unconscious. He thought of Robb rubbing his hair and saying that their family would eventually reunite. He thought of Rickon hugging him. He thought of Summer and his soft fur when he had been always protecting Bran. He thought of Jojen and Hodor.

When Jon took out Longclaw and the dragon turned to the Night King, ready to attack, Bran thought of those who were still alive. He thought of Sansa and her tears when she had seen him for the first time in a long. He thought of Arya and her happiness as a result for reuniting with her family. He thought of Theon when he had stood before the Starks and asked for forgiveness. He thought of Meera, who he had never wanted to disappoint, yet he had hurt her in several ways. She would be happier without him.

In the end, he thought of Jon. Of the man who was not really his brother, but in the heart of Bran, that was what he was. Bran stared straight into his eyes as Jon walked toward him. There was uncertainty on Jon's face. After all, killing the Night King could not have been so easy. After all, he should have defended himself. The Night King was strong, invincible. But the Three-Eyed Raven turned out to be much stronger.

Bran had known the risk from the start. He had known that entering the mind of the Night King would be difficult and leaving it... practically impossible. Aware of all of this, he reconciled with what was to come. He accepted his fate. He had become the Three-Eyed Raven to disarm the main enemy in the Great War and allow his brother to win. While Jon Stark-Targaryen had to survive and sit on the throne, Bran Stark was destined to just be one of the many victims of the war. His name would be remembered. People would remember him as a hero who sacrificed his life for the good of the whole world. But he did not care about glory. He just wanted to silence the pain, to finish it all.

So when Jon attacked the Night King and then a fire appeared around them, Bran was ready.

* * *

The Northmen, the Lannister armies, and the Greyjoys fought just as they were equal, not divided by any circumstances. They all shared the same purpose; to kill a common enemy who was powerful enough to defeat the strongest of them. Never giving up in the combat, Brienne could feel her skin sweat profusely under the armor despite the cold of winter. She was waving her sword, smashing the bodies of the wights into small pieces of ice.

With the corner of her eye, she saw Lord Varys sliding down the wall of the castle, leaving a bloody trail behind. Yara and Theon Greyjoy were surrounded by a group of wights, but they did not intend to surrender. Someone shouted, informing everyone that another dragon had died, what made Ser Jorah run out of the courtyard and head for the battlefield. One of the direwolves attacked a Night Walker, stopping him from facing Brienne.

She looked around hoping that she would find Jaime, but what she saw broke her heart.

 _He has a bigger purpose which will affect the fate of the whole Westeros. The time for his death will come soon enough._

With horror, Brienne watched as a Night Walker stabbed Jaime in the back. Everything seemed to happen at a slow pace. Tyrion screaming something and attacking the enemy with a dragonglass. Jaime falling to his knees. Brienne taking him in her arms and sitting on the wet snow.

"Together we came to this world, together we will leave it," Jaime spoke in a whisper, blood flowing from his mouth. "Wherever Cersei is now, she must be very satisfied."

"You are not leaving, brother," Tyrion said ardently, kneeling beside them. "Do you hear me? I will not let you go."

"It's alright. I saw it coming. Bran predicted my death, remember? My big purpose was to kill the queen... I'm a Queenslayer now. I guess it's a progress."

"The fact that you killed the Mad King and queen Cersei should not define you." To Brienne's surprise, there was strength in her voice, even if she felt dead inside. "You're more than that, Jaime. You're a good man. You're a good brother. You are worth far more than all the people who have ever doubted you."

There was a gentle smile on his lips. He stared at her as if he wanted to memorize the features of her face, the color of her eyes, all the details of her appearance. Nobody had ever looked at her like that. As if she was his everything.

"Oh, Brienne. Meeting you... it's the best thing that has ever happened to me. I can not express my gratitude for having you. I just wish we had more time."

"Jaime," Tyrion started, but his voice broke.

"I want you to know that I love you. Both of you." He grabbed his brother's hand. "You are the last Lannister now, Tyrion. Promise me that you will make the Seven Kingdoms great again. Promise me that you will give Bronn a castle, this moron is more loyal that he says he is... Promise me you will be happy. At least try. For me."

It seemed that Jaime's hand was the only thing stopping Tyrion from falling apart. Tears fell down his face.

"I promise."

"You once held me in your arms like this," Jaime whispered, this time turning to Brienne. "Do you remember?"

"Of course. How could I forget?"

Brienne knew that the end was near. She saw life flowing from Jaime's body and she was grateful that she had the chance to say goodbye to him. At the same time, she cursed their fate for taking him away from her too soon.

She remembered that moment. Their naked bodies, the warm water, his sincere words. Back then, Jaime had considered her an ugly imitation of a woman, Brienne had thought he had been just a dishonest egoist. Still, he had trusted her enough to confess the truth about the Mad King's death. It had created a bond between them that slowly had turned into a strong feeling. Now, when she knew she loved him so much, letting him go was too hard.

"Do you remember how I gave you Oathkeeper? Then I let you go, making a huge mistake... Take my sword... Take Widow's Wail. Protect Sansa with both parts of the sword that once belonged to her father." He closed his eyes, his voice was so quiet that she barely could hear him. "I am dying in the arms of the woman I love. My Brienne..."

And then he was gone. Just like that.

* * *

The fate of the world rested in her hands. The lives of thousands of people who were bravely fighting around her depended on her courage. She could not think of those who had passed away. She could not think of Drogon and his burning body. She must have been strong in order to save the world. She must have been the queen she had always wanted to be.

When Jon made a lunge at the Night King, the opponent did not even twitch. It seemed too easy, but was it really so? People were dying, people were losing their loved ones. Death was never easy, neither was surviving.

Daenerys walked through the snow, smoothly and without sound. Rhaegal passed her quickly, and as soon as Jon got out of his reach, the dragon breathed fire. The Night King's body was in flames, and Daenerys stepped in proudly, her head raised, ready to show her strength.

The fire consumed her. It burned her clothes, warmed her body, but did not damage her in any way. The fire was in her veins, in her heart, in her whole body. She was a fire. Dany burned, triumphed, found herself in the warmth of her own skin.

From the enemy's throat came a strangled noise that did not resemble a human sound but fell silent as Daenerys stabbed him with the dagger made of dragonglass.

The combination of Valerian steel, dragonglass and fire was the key to the survival of human race. The Night King disintegrated into small pieces and then into white dust. Daenerys slowly came out of the flames and watched as all dead were dying again, but this time ultimately. They vanished quietly and violently, and after a while, the battlefield was as empty as if they had never been there.

And then silence gave way to the cheers in honor of the queen, sighs of relief, but also sobs over the bodies of victims. All glances were focused on her. Naked, covered with ash, Daenerys stood beside her last living dragon and looked at the survivors. She felt the overwhelming power when they all bend the knee, one by one. Northmen, Greyjoys, Unsullied, Dothraki, even Lannisters. They all knelt before their queen.

Jon approached her quietly and covered her shoulders with his fur coat, then kneeled, kissing her hand. Daenerys wanted to speak to her people, but the sudden pain made her incapable of speech. She slipped into the snow, but instead of the cold ground, she felt emptiness as if she was falling into the dark abyss.

"Khaleesi."

It was Jorah. He lifted her gently, but Daenerys barely felt his touch, barely heard his anxious voice. Her mind was on the border of life and the world of shadows, blood, and pain.

"My Queen, can you hear me? Daenerys!"

Jon. Dany wanted to say his name, but the agony squeezed her like a giant's fist.

She heard a lot of voices, more and more people gathered around them. Pain grasped her, and Dany bit back a scream. She wanted to open her eyes, but she could not. In her imagination, she saw Mirri Maz Duur dancing in the tent, scary shapes, smell of death.

The conversation was a chaotic jumble of words that did not make any sense.

"Pregnant... Azor Ahai... the Red Woman..."

A long wail of pain escaped from Dany's mouth and finally, she managed to open her eyes just to see the suffering on Jon's face.

"Take the queen to the castle, Ser Jorah," he ordered. "The Red Woman and Maester Wolkan will take care of her."

"Jon," she murmured, but it was all she could say, for she felt another sharp pain in her belly.

There was something unclear in his dark eyes that she could not read. As he passed his hand through her hair, his fleeting touch did not calm her down, but it filled her with fear.

"You will be alright," he whispered. "You and... our child."

No, it was impossible. Dany wanted to scream, deny it, but that was for nothing. She had no strength. The breath went out of her; it was all she could do to gasp.

Jorah carried her inside the castle as a host of memories rushed into her mind. She remembered how Jorah had carried her inside the tent, where Drogo had been dying and Mirri Maz Duur had been wailing like nothing human. It was happening all over again.

"No, no, no,' she moaned, not sure if Jorah could even hear her. "Please, no."

And then the darkness freed her from the pain and Dany greeted it with thankfulness.

* * *

"Have you ever supposed that our life would be like this? That when winter, long announced by our father, would finally arrive, darkness would come with it and would destroy everything we have? Have you ever imagined that we would be walking through big snow drifts, looking for the body of our younger sister? Has it ever occurred to you?"

"No, Sansa. Even in my worst nightmares, I have never expected myself to kill my own brother and lose my little sister shortly after getting them both back."

Jon needed to stop for a moment. He did not feel physically tired. Even after a long struggle and decisively longer identification of the victims, he was still strong enough to keep himself in movement. But his soul... Jon was afraid that he was too broken to save it.

"Bran's death is not your fault," Sansa asserted him. "You did not know. There was no way for you to influence Bran's decision, Jon. Just as there was no way for me to protect Arya, although somehow I will always blame myself for leaving her behind."

"The worst part is that even if I knew... I think I would have done it anyway. If the Night King was not killed, not only Bran and Arya, but also you, Daenerys, Sam and every other human would be killed."

"What about you? You weren't afraid of dying, were you?"

"I died once and I would gladly do it again."

Sansa slightly turned her head and closed her eyes. Her cheeks were pink because of cold, her eyes red from crying. She had been the one to inform him of the death of Bran and many other people he had known. She was so strong, and at the same time mentally devastated. Jon did not know how to relieve her pain.

Just as he could not get rid of his own.

"When I saw Bran and learned about Arya... I wanted to die." Her eyes glistened as she glanced at him. "Jump out of the window, cut my throat, hang on one of the turrets. There are so many opportunities to shorten one's life. That would be the easiest way, right? In this way, I would cease to feel the emotion of emptiness. And then I thought about our conversation when we all forgave Theon and called him a member of the family. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell. There must be someone who will remember those who have fallen. Someone who will be a lone wolf, who will create a new pack and who will never let the memory of House Stark die."

Jon hardly fought back the tears.

"You have someone to live for, Jon," Sansa continued. "You have me. You have Sam. You have people who will follow you till your last breath and most of all, you will have a son."

It still did not reach him. He was about to be a father. He was about to raise a child who would bring peace to the world. Perhaps even bring back happiness to Jon's life. But how could he enjoy the idea of having a son in the face of losing his siblings and friends? How could he feel any positive emotion when the fate of Daenerys remained unclear?

"Are you mad at me for not telling you about my relationship with the queen?"

"I'm not blind, Jon. I quickly realized there was something between you and Daenerys Targaryen, but I'm not going to judge you. Your son may be a chance for you to start a new life... a happy one."

"You deserve a happy life too, Sansa. You deserve it more than anyone I know."

Sansa smiled slightly, but her smile did not reach her sad eyes. She turned away from him as Gendry ran to them, snow creaking under his feet.

"I found her," he informed them, panting.

Jon felt as if a cold, invisible hand squeezed his heart and tried to pull it from his chest. He followed Gendry, though he was not ready for what he was going to see. Nothing could prepare him for that.

Everything ceased to matter when he found her. Small silhouette barely visible, brown hair scattered on snow, Needle lying in her open hand. Arya had several wounds on her chest and one on her neck. Beside her, a dead direwolf was staining the snow with its blood.

"Is it..." Jon couldn't force himself to say the direwolf's name.

"Yes. It's Nymeria," Sansa confirmed, then looked back and covered her mouth with her hand.

Jon thought about Ghost who was now accompanying Sam in search of bodies buried under the snow. At least his direwolf had survived. Jon picked up Arya, and when he did, her sword slipped from her hand and fell to the ground. Gendry raised it and handed it to Sansa. Tears gleamed on his cheeks, but he didn't utter a word. Slowly he lifted the body of the direwolf.

They headed for the castle. Gendry first, carrying Nymeria. Jon and Sansa side by side. She had Needle in her hand, he had Arya in his arms. She was light as a feather, calm as in the sleep. Calm... Arya had never been calm. She had been brisk, rebellious, full of life. Jon remembered her running into his arms as he had passed through the gate of Winterfell. How sweet her smile had been, how she had looked at him with love.

"Now what, Jon? What do we do?"

Sansa stared at him in the way that made him think that she did not really know what to do without Bran and Arya in her life. Jon knew. They had to do the hardest thing in the world.

"We live."


	8. The Targaryen Wolf, part I

_It's the first part of the last chapter, next one probably coming in two weeks. I feel like my ending might actually end up as correct in some ways, but I guess we will find out when the show comes back for its last season. Enjoy!_

* * *

 ** _The Targaryen Wolf, part I_**

"The task you entrust me with is very risky, your Grace. It won't be easy for people living in King's Landing to accept a dwarf, a traitor of House Lannister, as their leader. Especially if I'm about to rule on your behalf."

"That's why Unsullied and Dothraki will go with you, Tyrion." Daenerys settled down comfortably on the pillows, reflexively laying her hands on her belly. "You have my permission to kill every person who opposes the authority of their new queen."

Tyrion swallowed but did not comment on her mention of killing people. He looked at his companions standing beside him. Daario was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, while Jorah was standing close to Daenerys' bed as if ready to help her at any moment. Jon was sitting on the chair and stroking the fur of his direwolf, who had been accompanying him all the time since the battle.

Six weeks had passed since the carnage that plunged Winterfell into the darkness. Dany had been constantly losing consciousness and recovering it. The Red Woman had explained that the reason for her well-being had been purely psychological. Drogon's death had influenced Daenerys' health, making her physically weak, haunting her with images from the past and driving her away from reality. Fortunately, her son's life was not threatened.

"Your wish is my command," Tyrion said, giving a little bow. "In this case, I will be waiting for your arrival at King's Landing."

"There is a chance that my takeover of the throne will be impossible. If I die while giving birth to my firstborn," Dany closed her eyes, not wanting to see their reaction, "then you will rule on a behalf of the rightful heir to the iron throne unless he decides otherwise."

When she opened her eyes, Jon's questioning stare did not surprise her.

"My Queen," he started ardently, "I've already said that I will renounce my claim to the throne. I'm a man of my word."

"I do not think you have a choice, Jon. You will rule until our son is old enough to wear the crown. According to the Red Woman, his destiny is to bring peace to this world and you shall help him."

"You speak as if your death was certain, your Grace," Daario noticed.

"Perhaps it is."

Daenerys' voice was calm, devoid of any emotion. She loved these men for always believing in her, for being ready to do anything for her. But now she had to say farewell to them because they could no longer follow her. Not where she was heading.

"You promised you would never give up." Daario knelt beside her, taking her hands in his. "You are The Mother of Dragons, The Breaker of Chains, The Unburnt. The iron throne has always been yours. Your destiny is to take over the whole Westeros, not to die while giving birth to a child who is supposed to be some kind of a hero the world is waiting for. You are queen Daenerys of House Targaryen. Do not give up."

"Take as much gold as you need and take the Golden Company back to Essos," she told him as if his words did not matter at all. "Thank you, Daario. For your precious help in the battle and for your loyalty. I will always remember you."

Daario Naharis leaned forward and kissed her cheek. Dany felt another piece of her heart fall apart as he pulled away and made one last bow to her.

"May we meet again, My Queen."

And then he left. She couldn't let herself think too much. The only important thing was to make sure that her son would be born. Only the future mattered. The future she might not see.

"I guess it's time for me as well," Tyrion admitted. "I have to prepare for a long journey."

"Of course." Dany gave him a half-smile. "I want you to know that I am very grateful for having you as my Hand. Although sometimes I did not listen to your advice and not all your ideas were correct, your devotion has been always appreciated. I believe that with your help, the Seven Kingdoms will become great again."

"It is an honour to serve you, your Grace. You will always be remembered as the saviour of mankind and I will never let the memory of you die. I hope, however, that it's not the end of your story."

He kissed her hand and then walked away. Dany closed her eyes, suddenly very tired. At the thought of Drogon, Viserion, Missandei, and Grey Worm, tears filled her eyes. The next goodbye could be as difficult as thinking about those she had lost.

"Ser Jorah," she whispered. "Come to me."

As she reached out, he gently grabbed her hand. Feeling his soothing, familiar touch, Dany let the tears stream down her face. She opened her eyes and met his gaze; anxious, tender, full of love.

"I want you to go with Tyrion," she explained, no longer hiding her emotions. She wanted him to know how much she cared about him. "Before you protest, you must know that it doesn't mean that I don't want you by my the side. I just think it will be better. Dothraki will follow you, and Tyrion will need help. You're the one I trust the most."

"Khaleesi, please, let me stay," he begged; his voice full of pain.

"You have been by my side from the very beginning. You saw the birth of my dragons, you saw me change from a scared girl to the queen. I would not be here right now if not for you. You are not only my adviser and protector. You are my dear friend."

"Forgive me, My Queen. Forgive me for betraying you. Forgive me for not being able to save you."

"Oh, Jorah." She took his face in her hands and kissed him on the forehead. "Nobody has ever loved me as much as you do. I've never deserved that kind of love, I could never reciprocate it. Yet it's as hard for me to let go as it is for you."

Jorah took her hands off his face and kissed them gently. Then he put his hand on her belly. The tears flowed down his face, but he seemed not to pay any attention. He smiled at Daenerys. At the love of his life.

"Your son will be as strong and courageous as his mother. I will be faithful to him as I am to you. I will be always loyal to House Targaryen. And when I will look at your son sitting on the throne, I will think of his beautiful mother. The queen whom I will never stop loving."

Dany was sure that Jorah took the last part of her heart with him when he left without looking back. Jon sat next to her as if he knew she needed him. He kept hugging her even when she fell asleep, plunging into another dream full of people she had lost.

* * *

Her long red hair fell casually down her shoulders as Sansa sat down at the dressing table. Looking at her reflection in the mirror, it was hard to recognize that sad woman who seemed to be a completely different person. She ran her hand over her pale cheek, then her pursed lips. Her eyes were dry as they had already shed too many tears. Sansa covered herself with a warm mantle, but it was still cold.

The last few weeks had been a tangle of sadness, suffering, and chaos, of which Sansa mostly remembered the cold. It had been cold when she had watched Arya and Bran's bodies burn among the fallen. It had been cold when Theon had mourned his sister, Yara. It had been cold when Jon had been spending all days in his queen's chambers and leaving only to attend next funerals. It had been cold when Sansa had been laying alone in bed and crying herself to sleep and then dream of her family.

A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. It had to be Brienne. In Sansa's opinion, Brienne was the strongest woman in the world. Still mourning the death of her beloved, Brienne did not let the pain change her. Sansa admired her determination, whenever Brienne would come to her and encourage her to eat, to walk, to keep living. They did not talk about Arya, nor Bran, nor Jaime. There was no place for tears and reopening wounds. After all, Sansa found a sort of comfort in Brienne's presence.

"Come in," she permitted.

But it was not Brienne. A sudden feeling of warmth spilt inside her and for the first time in weeks, it was no longer cold. Tyrion walked slowly into the chamber and closed the door behind him. When he turned to face his wife, he seemed a little hesitant.

"Lady Stark," a gentle smile lighted his face, "I don't mean to bother you."

"You don't, my Lord. Take a seat."

Tyrion took a few steps forward and awkwardly sat down on one of the chairs. Sansa felt a sudden rush of sympathy for her husband.

"There have been a lot of things going on lately, making it hard for us to talk." He tapped his fingers on the table as if he didn't know what to do with his hands. "I just want you to know that I'm very sorry about your siblings. I'm aware that it's not truly comforting, it won't make you feel better, but Arya and Bran died in a beautiful way. The world will remember them."

"I'm sorry about your siblings, too. I know how much you loved your brother. Ser Jaime made some mistakes, but in his last moments, he proved to be a good man."

Surprisingly, talking about it with Tyrion did not hurt her. She did not want to cry, shout, ask him to leave, and stay alone with her pain. She felt very calm as if Tyrion was the only person she could talk to about all the bad things without another heartbreak.

"Thank you, Sansa," he said in a soft voice.

The way he said her name as if it was his favourite word, made her wonder if it was a common way of speaking for men in love. She had never felt that kind of love. Reciprocated, pure, selfless. No one had ever loved her the way her father had loved her mother, the way Jaime had loved Brienne. Whenever she saw Jon sitting at Daenerys's bed, she thought of the love she had never experienced.

When she raised her head to look at Tyrion again, she caught sight of something she had not noticed before. Tyrion was wearing a fur coat suitable for a long journey and a brooch that emphasized his position as Hand of the Queen.

"You're leaving," she whispered. It wasn't a question, rather a statement of the fact.

"Yes, I am," he admitted, suddenly extremely tired and sad. "The Queen ordered me to go to King's Landing and rule on her behalf until she can do it herself. However, if the queen does not survive childbirth... then I will rule on behalf of the rightful heir."

"Jon."

"Yes." He nodded. "Jon."

Sansa did not like the prospect of losing both Jon and Tyrion.

"Those who leave Winterfell usually do not return," she told him. "If you leave, we may never see each other again."

Tyrion seemed surprised at the fact that this very matter caught her attention. He was staring at her for a moment, in silence, and it occurred to her that he was really ready to say goodbye to her.

"I believe that despite all of this we will be able to annul our marriage." Tyrion grimaced, hardly speaking the words. "I do not know the details of this procedure, but I think-"

"Tyrion," she interrupted him, her tone gentled a little. "Come closer."

It took him a moment to understand the meaning of her words. He probably did not even suspect what she truly intended to tell him, but he fulfilled her request by walking over to her.

He took a step closer, close enough for her to see the scar that marred his face, Lannister's golden hair and eyes that were a mix of green and black.

Sansa wanted to fully see his reaction to the words she was about to say.

"I've made a choice," she told him. The whole world around them froze. "I wish to remain your wife."

Relief. Tyrion was so relieved that Sansa struggled with the temptation to hug him. She felt lighter as if she had thrown some invisible weight off her shoulders.

"Do not get me wrong, I appreciate it very much, but... Oh, Sansa, I'm not the right man for you." The pain crossed Tyrion's face. "I'm too old and let's face it, I'm a dwarf! I'm not a man of your dreams and I never will be."

"I used to think so as well. I used to dream of a prince who would take me on long walks in the garden, who would give me expensive presents and assure that he would never stop loving me. I used to imagine a prince who would be handsome, faithful and kind." She took his face in his hands, making sure that he would not stop looking at her, that he would not lose a word. "I used to be a naive, stupid girl, but that girl is long gone. So is her idea of a perfect man."

"Sansa-"

"Listen to me, Tyrion. Do you know how men treated me? Men who should protect me? One of them had me beaten, held me against my will in the castle, sentenced my father to death and forced me to watch the execution. The second one raped me several times, sometimes it would last hours, he tortured me, taking away all my faith in men."

Tyrion seemed very moved, but he did not look away, interrupt her, nor pull back from her touch. He looked at her with great affection, without disgust and fear as she opened her heart to him.

"You are different," she continued. "You are kind and decent, and the only man who's ever put my needs above his own. You're not perfect, neither am I. I don't want a prince from a tale. I want someone honest and gentle. I want you, Tyrion, but only if you want me too."

"Of course, there is nothing I want more, but I cannot give you much, Sansa. For what it's worth, I can only give you my heart."

"It's enough. You're enough."

His shy smile brought light back into her broken life.

"Well then, Lady Sansa of House Stark, I swear to love you until my last breath." He never took his eyes off her. "I swear to protect you with all my strength. I swear to make you happy and I swear that no man will ever hurt you again."

 _Most women don't know what they like until they've tried it_ , Margaery Tyrell had once said.

Sansa found what she had been looking for in Tyrion's arms. His soft lips against hers as he traced the shape of her mouth with his. His gentle hand sliding down her back. The speed of his heart, the warm of his body being so close to her.

She was no longer scared of men's touch. She was no longer overwhelmed by the pain. For the first time in many long years, she felt her heart open and knew love as more than a memory.

* * *

"You loved him," Tormund said. "The golden lion."

Brienne observed snowflakes settle on the railing. She tried not to imagine Jaime's face, but she could not help but feel that his figure was forever engraved in her memory.

"Yes, I did," she admitted, not letting her emotions flow to the surface.

"Lucky man. He died, knowing that there was a woman who would mourn him."

As Tormund had approached her, Brienne had been too surprised to make any assumptions. Nevertheless, she had never expected that their first conversation would be about Jaime.

"I do not think Jaime would agree with you if he still was here. He would never want me to mourn him, fall into despair, change my life just because of his death. He would rather want me to live on, keep fighting. That's what I'm doing."

She put her hand on Widow's Wail's handle. It was a reflexive gesture that she always made while thinking of Jaime. When Brienne looked up, Tormund smiled at her. There was something positive and calm in his smile as if despite cruel winter, there was still place for the bright light of the sun.

"You are a warrior, Brienne of Tarth. I admire you. I've never met such a woman before, but I understand that you do not feel the same. Even if the lion is gone, your heart belongs to him."

"Yes," she admitted, remembering the last time Jaime's eyes looked at her. "I believe it's true."

"Such a pity," Tormund stated, but his smile did not disappear. "We could make beautiful babies."

"Undoubtedly."

He did not seem offended by the mocking tone of her voice.

"If you ever change your mind, I will return. One word from you and I'm yours."

"Your devotion is very flattering to me. Thank you."

Watching him walk away with his people in order to fix the damage of The Fallen Wall and settle down in the north, Brienne felt as light as never before. As if the conversation with Tormund, though short and a bit strange, cleaned her mind and throw off a burden from her chest.

"My Lady." Podrick Payne stood beside her, exactly where his place was. "Is it a smile that I'm seeing on your face?"

"What? Do not be ridiculous, Podrick. Come on. Today I have not had the chance to win a duel with you. Yet."

When Podrick gave a loud, silly laugh and Oathkeeper shined in her hand, Brienne came to the conclusion that everything would be eventually fine. Sansa was inside the castle. Podrick at her side. Jaime in her heart. She was where she was supposed to be. At some point, Winterfell had become her home.

* * *

Theon Greyjoy embraced Sansa Stark with some degree of uncertainty and fear of rejection, but when she threw her arms around his neck and gave him a tender hug, he immediately relaxed. Above her shoulder, he noticed Jon gazing at them.

"It's your heritage, Theon," Sansa said, pulling away from him so she could look into his eyes. "Your destiny is to be the Lord of the Iron Islands. To do this, you have to reconcile with the past and accept the person you've become. Do not let remorse and memories ruin that for you."

"Thank you, Sansa. For everything," he spoke with the power that flowed straight from his broken heart. "North would never wish for a better queen."

Sansa smiled, tears gleaming in her eyes as she kissed him on the cheek. Then she stepped back in order to let Jon approach them. Not sure what to do, Theon reached out and Jon grabbed his hand. After a brief moment of awkwardness, Jon hugged him tight and patted his back.

"I hope you know who you are."

"I'm a Greyjoy. " He did not hesitate, saying, "I'm a Stark."

"Indeed." Jon gave him a half-smile. "Winterfell will always be your home. House Stark will always be your family."

"I wish Robb could be here now."

Whenever he thought of Robb, Theon felt the pain in his heart, but this time he decided to take advantage of it, turn pain into strength. There wasn't time for sentiment or wallowing in self-pity.

"Aye," Jon sighed. "Me too. And Arya, and Bran, and Rickon."

"And father, and mother, and our direwolves," Sansa added.

For a moment they were standing in silence, allowing the memory of the dead to bring peace and tranquillity. And then Theon walked through the snow to his people. He expected them to leave him. He expected them to oppose his will and his pitiful reign. He would have done it himself if he was one of them. Those people deserved a better leader.

All eyes turned to him. Theon swallowed and lifted his chin, not letting fear to be a force of his actions. Never again.

"I will understand if you decide to leave. If you decide to kill me and choose a leader in a more bloody way. That would be simple. Sometimes we choose to do the easiest thing because we are afraid of challenges and we struggle with our own weaknesses." Theon never looked away, his voice never broke. It was his moment and he had to use it well. "I speak from experience, as you can probably tell. I've made a lot of mistakes. I've been a coward, I've betrayed the people who showed me kindness, I've failed to save my sister. I cannot make amends for the things I've done. I cannot bring Yara back to life."

What would his father say if he could see him now? What would Eddard Stark say? What would Yara say? What would Robb say? Would they be ashamed to see the person he has become? Would they be proud of him? Would they forgive him?

He could not forgive himself, but he did not really need forgiveness. He needed a little faith. Enough to start living again.

"I'm not like my sister. I can never reach the level of her leadership skills. But in my veins, the same blood flows. I refuse to be a broken man, a coward, and a traitor. At this point, while I stand before you, I decide to be Theon Greyjoy and I swear that I will do everything in my power to make our House great again. We have survived the Great War, but this is just the beginning. We have a long way to go. I'm giving you a choice. Choose the easiest way and leave me or follow me and together, we will make sure that no House will ever look down on us. Nobody will ever underestimate our power. Let's bring House Greyjoy back to glory!"

As they chose him, repeating his name all over again, he tilted back his head, looked at the dark sky and finally found himself.

* * *

 _Seven months later…_

He found her in the godswood, the quietest place in Winterfell. The only place that has not seen the cruelty of war, that has not been stained with blood. She was turned back to him, and a cascade of silvery hair, partially braided, was falling on her back.

Taking a step forward, he also noticed Melisandre. She bowed slightly, then leaned forward and whispered, "It's the day."

Jon gave a little shiver as Red Woman headed towards the castle to let them have a moment of privacy. So they could say goodbye. He knew what her words meant. The day had come. Birth of his son. Death of his beloved.

As he approached her, Dany slowly turned to look at him. Tears shimmered on her cheeks, crystal clear and innocent. Jon reached out and gently wiped them with his fingers.

"What's the matter, my love?"

"Oh, Jon." She hugged her cheek to his hand. "Little do you know."

A host of memories rushed into his mind. Ygritte, her red hair, the cave, the dead body of his first love in his arms. When Ygritte had died, Jon had thought it would be impossible for him to fall in love again. Then he had met Daenerys and willingly given her his heart, let her become his whole world. And now she was about to leave him, too.

Dany handed him a letter from King's Landing. Jon found out that a rather tense atmosphere reigned there. People demanded an immediate appearance of the queen because the word of a dwarf was not enough for them. Tyrion acknowledged that many people had tried to end his life, what had led to many executions taking place.

"As soon as our son is born, you have to head south," Dany said when he stopped reading. "Westeros needs a king."

"Westeros needs a queen. It needs you, your Grace."

"I cannot fight destiny, Jon. Even if I truly want to, and believe me, I do want to be the queen. I want to sit on the throne, I want to have the obedience and love of my people, I want to see my son grow up and I want to marry my beloved. Instead, I will die like my mother, like yours, like Tyrion's... I will die giving life to my baby."

The snow creaked beneath her feet as she started to walk among the trees. Jon was walking beside her, feeling that she was already sliding away from his embrace of love, going where he could not follow her.

"Do you regret it?" His voice was filled with sadness. "Do you regret meeting me and falling in love?"

For Dany to be capable of answering, there had to be a short moment of silence between them.

"As far as I remember, I was always fighting for survival. As a young, defenceless girl, my destiny was dependent on the temptations of my brother, who would never hesitate to hurt me. I was nothing but a toy, a pretty sister to be sold and raped. It was only when I became Khaleesi that I got a chance to feel the power, the pleasure of knowing that no one could command me because I was the queen." When she stopped and looked at him, Jon could swear that he saw a fire burning in her eyes. "My desire for power grew with each passing day. I conquered new cities, enlarged my army, sentenced to the death anyone who would oppose me. I had three dragons and thousands of people ready to die for me. My only purpose was to get the iron throne, get what was meant to be mine. And then I met you."

Dany shuddered and tightly wrapped herself in the cloak, and Jon grabbed her hands. They were cold.

"May we come back to the castle, your Grace?"

As she nodded, he took her hand and the moved forward slowly. Over them, Rhaegal hovered in the air like a spectre of death.

"When I met you, I realized that there was always a void in my heart that no power could fill," Dany continued. "From the very beginning, I felt this unspoken connection between us. You gave me more than love, Jon. You gave me a family I always wanted to have, including a son I thought I would never have. I know that if it had not been for you, my life would have looked different now. However, I do not regret anything. Your love might be the death of me, but it's worth it."

Daenerys stopped in the courtyard. Jon leaned over and his lips brushed against her hair.

"When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east. When the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves. When my womb quickens again, and I bear a living child." she said sadly. "I leave you and my son, my new family, believing that, on the other side, I will meet my old family. My husband and my dead son. Perhaps it's what the prophecy has been always about."

"I hate to say that, my Queen, but there is no life after death." Jon lifted her chin and looked her straight in the eye. "I died, murdered by my men at Castle Black. There was nothing but darkness and loneliness. The Red Woman resurrected me."

"So do you admit that Ser Davos was telling the truth, back at Dragonstone? You took a knife in the heart for your people."

"Aye, I did. I should have told you sooner."

"Yes, you should, but that's not the point." Her eyes wandered toward the dragon flying over them, then she glanced back at Jon. "Fate sent me here so that our son could be born. Fate brought you back so that our son could be born. Well, perhaps life after death does not exist, but part of me will always exist in my children. In Rhaegal and... Choose a name."

Surprised, Jon could not speak for a moment.

"It's a great honour, your Grace, but are you sure you do not want to choose it yourself?"

"After all, our son has roots in two noble Houses," Dany told him. "His last name is Targaryen, his first name shall be derived from the Starks."

Jon did not have to wonder. He always knew the answer. It was as easy as breathing.

"Robb," he whispered; pain squeezing his heart.

"Robb. Robb Targaryen," Daenerys repeated as if trying the sound of that name in her mouth. "Robb of House Targaryen, First of His Name, the Prince That Was Promised, Azor Ahai, Last Hero, the King of Seven Kingdoms."

A delicate smile appeared on her lips, confirming her approval. Jon kissed her suddenly, but very tenderly, remembering her taste, her scent, the speed of her heartbeat.

And then Dany began to scream, and his life became a torment. Later on, he did not remember much of that. Scream, the way to the chambers, Melisandre urging him to wait outside. He was sitting on a cold floor, leaning against the wall, hearing Dany screaming in agony behind the door. It seemed to him that darkness enveloped him, that he could never see the light again. Sansa, accompanied by Brienne and the Hound, as well as Ser Davos, came by to support him, but he barely noticed any of them.

He should be with her. He should hold her hand, make sure everything was fine, but he felt so tired as if someone had taken away his will to live.

It was only a few hours later when the silence finally reigned. Jon pushed open the door and came in. He knelt beside the bed and took Dany's hand in his.

The shirt was attached to the wet body, silver hair was no longer perfect, the sheet was covered with blood. Daenerys, however, found the strength within herself to look at Jon for the last time and say her last words.

"You must love him the most, Jon. You must protect him." Her voice was weak, barely audible. "Promise me, Jon."

 _Promise me, Ned._

"I promise," he said, tears streaming down his cheeks. "I will always love you, Daenerys. I will take care of our son for both us."

Jon leaned over and made the last kiss on her lips, though she could no longer feel it. Her heart was no longer beating. He could not break, he could to give up. Although he wanted to do so, there was someone who needed him. His son softly mewled in Melisandre's arms. Maester Wolkan stood beside her. Jon rose to his feet, each breath seemed to be the biggest challenge he had ever faced. Yet, he managed to take the baby in his arms.

"You're my whole world now," Jon whispered.

At this point, Jon decided he would keep fighting. Even if it meant leaving Winterfell, becoming the King and losing himself in the process. He would do it for his son. For Robb.


	9. The Targaryen Wolf, part II

_I enjoyed every minute of writing this story, even if it was a real challenge to write a multi-chapter fic in English. Not to mention that it's not easy to create something for Game of Thrones as the canon is remarkable. Thank you for reading and leaving reviews. Here's a quite bittersweet ending. Enjoy!_

* * *

 ** _The Targaryen Wolf, part II_**

When the dragon's powerful silhouette emerged from behind the clouds, Tyrion could swear that all the inhabitants of King's Landing held their breaths. Ser Jorah took a step forward with his eyes focused on the sky, and Tyrion felt the knight's pain as if it was his own. He knew that Jorah wished it had been Daenerys who had been getting closer to them on her beloved Drogon.

"Damn dragon." Bronn spat on the ground. "I almost killed his brother."

"And he almost killed you," Tyrion stated, smiling slightly.

"Well, from the two of us, I'm the one who is still alive. Just... do not let the dragon eat me. I haven't travelled with your brother all the way north and I haven't come back here with you only to serve as a food for the dragon."

"Don't worry, my friend. As long as I am the second most important person in the Seven Kingdoms, not a hair on your head will be lost," Tyrion assured him. "Who knows, maybe one day you will even get a castle."

Bronn seemed quite pleased with his answer. At the same time, the dragon hovered above them, then landed in the snow just a few steps from where Tyrion stood. Rhaegal lowered himself enough to allow his rider to descend safely to the ground.

Tyrion had seen Daenerys flying on Drogon multiple times, full of grace and incredible self-confidence. She had been indeed the Queen of Dragons, devoid of fear and scruples, ready to burn alive any enemy. There had been something astounding and terrifying in the beauty of her mesmerizing power.

The memory of her remained in her only living dragon, but also in the love of her life, who set his feet on the ground, straightened up and looked at his castle. Jon Targaryen emanated with power in a different way than Daenerys. With his coat waving in the wind, his hair tied and his eyes sharp as his sword, Jon looked strong enough to kill all his enemies with his own hands. There was something in him that made Tyrion think about peace and security, but also pain and fatigue. Jon carried more weigh on his shoulders than any other man could bear, yet he was ready to face new challenges.

"Welcome to King's Landing, your Grace," Tyrion greeted him.

"Lord Tyrion, Ser Jorah." Jon approached them. "It's good to see you both."

"I must praise you for your impressive entrance, but I wonder when I will have the pleasure of getting to know the future successor of the throne."

"My coronation has not taken place yet, and you are already planning my son's reign," Jon joked, but his sad smile proved that this new kind of power was not something he wanted.

"I've heard some prophecies about his future salutary influence on the fate of mankind and I very much care about his safety. Shouldn't a young prince arrive along with his father?"

"Robb is travelling with my people who are ready to die in his defence. Samwell Tarly and Ser Davos are taking a good care of him. At this point, they should be two days away from here."

"Robb?" Jorah joined the conversation. "Is it after your brother?"

"Aye." Jon seemed very tired as he ran his hand over the scales on Rhaegal's body.

Tyrion knew he would get used to that view eventually. Although it had been a year since he had seen Daenerys Targaryen for the last time, he still could not believe that someone else would order her dragon to breath fire, feed him, ride him. Just as it was hard to believe that she was no longer his queen. That she was not there at all.

"Bronn, find some food for Rhaegal," Tyrion said.

"Sure, as long as I'm not the food."

Bronn grinned, bowed and walked away. Jon headed for the castle, and Tyrion and Jorah dutifully followed him, ready to listen to every command. It was possible for Tyrion to feel Daenerys' presence as if she had been truly there, helping them to make the best decisions, giving them strength to fight further.

"Your chambers are fully prepared," Tyrion turned to Jon. "Would you like to rest before we tackle the most important issues?"

"Sleep is not a rest. It's just a chance to dive into nightmares. I prefer to discuss the present before I let myself think about the past. First, in a gesture of gratitude for your loyalty, Ser Jorah, I allow you to visit Dragonstone in order to say goodbye to the queen."

Because his voice was so controlled, Tyrion understood the meaning of his words only after a short moment. They stopped at the door leading to the Great Hall.

"Your Grace." Jorah's voice broke before he could add anything.

"Even after death, Daenerys' body was immune to fire. I decided to bury her in a place that perhaps wasn't her home, but something the closest to the idea of home." Jon spoke indifferently as if not about the woman he loved. Only then Tyrion realized how much he had been damaged. "I thought you might like to visit her grave. I can see your pain, Ser Jorah. This can help you clear your mind and heart."

Jorah nodded, barely holding back tears.

"Thank you, your Grace."

"Jon. You can call me Jon. Both of you." Jon looked at Tyrion. "At least when we speak in private."

As Jorah left to prepare for an immediate departure, Tyrion massaged the back of his neck and looked suspiciously at Jon.

"I wonder why you do not intend to offer me such a possibility. She was my queen, too."

"Well then, you can visit Dragonstone on your way to Winterfell if you wish."

Winterfell. Tyrion thought of Sansa's red hair, her sweet scent, and her soft lips. He thought of Jaime's death stare, of the blood around him. He thought of the pain in Cersei's voice and her body falling to the ground. Winterfell reminded him of the beautiful love he had, but also of the loss of the last two members of his family.

When Tyrion had left Winterfell, he and Sansa had known their relationship would not be easy. She had been to remain in the north as the Lady of Winterfell, while he had been to serve as the Hand of the King. Of course, he had promised her that he would use every occasion to visit her. Now his heart filled with warmth at the chance of seeing her again.

"Though not in the near future," Jon continued. "People do not trust me, I'm not the king yet, not officially, so I need you, Tyrion. After the coronation, you will be able to travel north to spend a few months with your wife. Sansa will be happy to see you."

"Doesn't it bother you?" Tyrion did not want his voice to sound so trenchant, but he could not resist. "I'm not the best candidate for a husband of your precious sister."

Jon's smile lit up his face and for a moment, it made him look like a young, carefree boy instead of the King overwhelmed by duty.

"Sansa is not my sister, but she's very important to me. I know what she's been through and I know that if she decided to give you her broken heart, she really must have thought you deserved it. But," his eyes seemed to be much darker than usual, "if you hurt her in any way, I'll make you wish it was Rhaegal who killed you."

"I believe your word." Tyrion walked to the door. "Shall we?"

They looked at each other in silence, then Jon finally nodded. He did not let himself show how nervous he probably was. Tyrion pushed open the door and was greeted by the cold of The Great Hall.

Despite the semi-darkness inside, it was not difficult to see the Iron Throne and its dazzling blades. Only the steps of Jon could be heard as he was walking forward with grace and confidence. The way he looked made Tyrion think about Ned Stark, about his honour and cool kindness. Jon would be as respected as Ned. Tyrion realized it while watching the king reach his throne by an entire flight of stairs and touch one of the swords.

"The Iron Throne is a symbol of power and bloodshed," Jon said in a toneless voice when Tyrion approached him. "The fight for it has been going on for hundreds of years. So many people have died for others to sit here and feel the power. The history proves that all power cannot be held in the hands of only one person. It is too destructive. That's why I decided to restrict the range of my power and burn the Iron Throne."

"What do you mean?"

Tyrion did not really need an answer. He knew it well, maybe he had long suspected what politics Jon would have chosen.

"The Kingdom of North ruled by House Stark and the Kingdom of the Iron Islands ruled by House Greyjoy will remain as separate kingdoms with no need to pledge their loyalty to me. Moreover, the Principality of Dorne will remain free of my reign too. The other Houses must surrender to my authority. However, if they come up with the initiative to create separate kingdoms, I will gladly listen to their requests."

"Perhaps one day, there will be actual Seven Kingdoms again."

"Perhaps. As far as I know, it is unclear who holds control over the Riverlands and that Casterly Rock has no ruler."

"I recommend leaving the Twins to the rats and worms. As for Casterly Rock, this ancestral stronghold used to belong to Lannisters. I don't want it, but I might know someone who would be glad to receive the castle in return for his loyalty towards me and my brother. Only if you don't mind." Tyrion grinned. "There are still many issues that we have to discuss, but can it postpone it until tomorrow? We could use some wine, don't you think, your Grace?"

A corner of Jon's mouth lifted.

"Long ago, we stood together on the Great Wall," he said. "A bastard and a dwarf. Now we're here."

"We've come a long way, my friend," Tyrion agreed.

A few hours and glasses of wine later, they stood in the same place, formerly bastard and dwarf, now the King and his Hand, watching as Rhaegal's fire consumed the Iron Throne and began a new, better world.

* * *

The forest was filled with grim silence, interrupted only by the sound of hooves hitting the snow. The trees seemed to be dangerous figures, casting long shadows. There was a scent of forest and winter in the air, but Melisandre could sense something else. The smell of death.

A person appeared on the path from nowhere, their face hidden under the hood and a dagger shining in their hand. The Red Woman stopped her horse and jumped down to the ground. Then she ran her hand over the horse's mane and let it break into a furious gallop heading to the place that they had come from.

She did not feel afraid, facing the inevitable death. After everything she had done, she was ready to perish.

"I've been waiting for you." Her voice echoed in the quiet forest. "Come closer, child."

The person took a few steps forward, moving quickly and silently. After a while, the hood fell on her back, revealing the face covered with small wounds. The dark eyes did not express any emotion, yet Melisandre perfectly knew what was hidden in the heart of this young but brave girl.

"I once told you that I saw darkness in you. Since then, you've accepted it. You've embraced it. You've learned how to derive strength from your pain."

"You also said that we would meet again," the girl responded calmly. "Did you foresee the circumstances of our reunion?"

"No, I didn't," Melisandre said. "I do not have the skills your brother owned. I only see what the Lord of Light wants to show me. With the birth of The Prince That Was Promised, I received a vision of my death and the identity of my killer."

"Why haven't you told anyone that I'm alive?"

"That's not my secret to tell."

Snow started to fall, covering the dark hair of the girl, but she did not pay any attention. She toyed with the dagger in her hand, not looking away from Melisandre.

"He's here too, isn't he? Gendry Baratheon." As the Red Woman spoke those words, something on the girl's face changed. "I'm glad you're not completely lonely. You have chosen a life of protecting your family in secret, like a shadow wandering among the trees, watching over your sister's safety. You are a lone wolf, Arya Stark of Winterfell."

The girl's eyes gleamed at the sound of her name, then she circled Melisandre and stood behind her. The Red Woman knelt on the cold snow, staring at the sky and the snowflakes falling on her face. It was quiet, cold and calm.

"You tried to kill Gendry. You used his blood for a ritual that was meant to bring death to Robb." Arya's voice was as cold as the blade of her dagger as she put it near Melisandre's neck. "I want you to know that I'm going to kill you for these reasons, but you committed much more crimes. What are your last words?"

"I hurt so many innocent human beings, but I also brought Jon back to life and lead to the union between ice and fire. I've done my part, I've lived long enough in this hell of a world. I'm ready."

Arya slashed her throat without hesitation, making the world stop for a moment. A silence reigned, too thrilling to be interrupted. When Melisandre's body slid to the ground, and the pure snow was stained with blood, Arya wiped her dagger against the sleeve of her jacket.

The thought of home led her among the trees until she saw him. Gendry. Arya loved her family, but they would never understand who she had really become. For Jon, she had been his innocent little sister, while Sansa had expected her to finally act like a lady, or at least the warrior lady similar to Brienne. Then she left them.

Gendry accepted her as she was.

"The Red Woman was never on your list," he said as she approached him.

"The list is long over, but there are still people who can hurt my family. I avenged the dead. Now I'm protecting the living. Do you have it?"

Arya held her breath as Gendry pulled away from the tree revealing a box of what she needed. She knelt on the snow and carefully lifted the lid of the box. The bottom was covered with many faces of the people that Arya had killed. Littlefinger's empty face seemed to rebuke her, but Arya ignored the whole world around her, focusing her attention on the most precious thing. She lifted her sword with reverence, feeling just as she had felt when it had been given to her by Jon. Needle.

"It was not easy to steal it from your sister's room," Gendry admitted. "She held the chest under her bed. What's more, Brienne of Tarth and The Hound are there all the time, protecting Lady Sansa and everything that belongs to her."

"The Hound?" Arya looked at him in surprise, rising with Needle in her hand. "Why is he still in Winterfell?"

"I believe that he prefers to stay at your sister's side. Maybe he doesn't have anywhere to go, or maybe he's doing it because of you. Arya," he grabbed her hand, "you've been gone for a year. You haven't seen your siblings' despair. Are you sure you do not want to come back to them?"

She looked away at the northern part of the forest. If she moved in that direction, she would soon notice the walls of the castle covered with snow. Whenever she closed her eyes and thought about Winterfell, she imagined her mother and father standing on the landing, Bran and Rickon running around in the courtyard with all the direwolves, Sansa sewing and smiling, Robb and Jon laughing at some stupid joke known only to both of them. What was behind the trees of the forest did not look like the home Arya had once known.

"Come back where?" Her voice was calm but filled with so much sadness. She hid Needle and the dagger in her scabbard. "After leaving Winterfell with my father and Sansa many years ago, I always dreamed of going back. I thought it could still be like it used to be. I lost hope when lord father was beheaded. It all started at that very moment, you know. Next deaths. Sansa's suffering. My road to becoming someone else. Sometimes it seems to me that Arya Stark died with her father." She closed her eyes, drawing strength from Gendry's presence. "I still love my family, I still think that Winterfell is my home, but it's more because of the memories. One day I will return with the hope that they will take me back. But today is not the day."

Gendry smelled of grass and wood when he hugged her gently as if fearing that, despite the ability to kill people without blinking, she would easily scatter in his arms. Arya rested her chin on his shoulder, enjoying the warm, solid, definitive realness of him.

"I think we should burn her body," he whispered. "And then we can search for someplace to sleep and eat. I'm starving."

"Me too." She laughed a little, letting go of his arms.

She did not know how her future would look like. She did not know if living in the midst of snow and cold made sense at all, or if it would not be easier to just die. However, she knew that as long as she had Gendry at her side and the home where she could return, she still wanted to live.

She closed her eyes again and then she saw her father smiling at her. He spoke to her, repeated words until she finally learned them by heart.

"When the snows fall and the white winds blow…"

* * *

"…the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives."

Sansa uttered these words so quietly that only she could hear them. She stood by the window, looking at Winterfell covered in snow. Her home was calm, beautiful, marked by pain and memories.

"This mysterious person must have a purpose," she said, this time loud enough for everyone to hear. "What do people say about her or him?"

"They say it's a woman," Lady Mormont told her. "They say she moves like a wolf and fights like one. They say she cannot be killed."

It made her think about Robb.

"What about her identity? Has no one seen her face?"

"Opinions on this subject are very diverse, my Lady," Brienne responded. "Some say it is the ghost of Lady Catelyn who has returned from the dead to protect her last child. Others say it's your sister. If I'm allowed to express my opinion, I do not think it's Arya. You saw her body, my Lady."

Sansa remembered that she had looked under her bed a few days ago, but she had not found the box with Arya's belongings. No trace of Needle.

"Two weeks ago, I overheard an unpleasant conversation between two peasants who criticized your takeover of power at Winterfell. They said the ruler should not be a woman," Wylis Manderly confessed. He had become the Lord of White Harbor after the death of his father, who had been murdered in the Great War. "The next day, their bodies were found near the inn. One word was written on their chests. Written with their own blood."

"What word?" Brienne asked, but Sansa knew.

"Stark," Sansa whispered.

"Aye," Lord Manderly admitted. "Whoever it is, she's undoubtedly the protector of House Stark. They call her Lady Stoneheart."

Sansa barely restrained her smile. Of course. Arya must have raged at the thought that even after faking her own death, people still called her a lady. Wherever she was.

"Sandor," she turned to The Hound. "What do you think? Is it Arya?"

"I saw her that day, I fought by her side. She was a reckless, stupid girl, ready to face and endure danger or pain. She didn't fear death and I thought that it would get her killed but no." Sandor grinned stupidly. "She's not dead. This fucking crazy warrior is too determined to stay alive, just like you, little bird. You both may outlive us all."

"Then why isn't she here?" Brienne asked.

Some time ago, Sansa would ask the same question. In the end, however, she understood her sister or at least made an attempt to understand her complicated way of thinking. Sansa looked at Sandor, who smiled at her with his silly smile that could scare more than one person. A corner of her mouth quirked up.

Before she could answer Brienne's question, Maester Wolkan entered the room and handed her a letter from King's Landing. Sansa noticed her hands shaking as she returned to her seat at the table and began to read Jon's words. He mentioned his son's well-being, the fact that Tyrion would visit her soon and other things that Sansa forgot after she read his last words.

She let out a harsh breath, only then realizing that she had been holding it. She looked up from the letter to glance at her people. Dozens of faces waited for her to deliver the news.

"Jon decided to keep the Kingdom of North as a separate, independent kingdom with its own authority," Sansa finally told them. She had expected her voice to be trembling, but actually, it had never been stronger.

The reaction was immediate. Brienne knelt on her knee, then others followed her.

"Your Grace," Lady Mormont bowed to her.

"I've never meant to serve any king. Joffrey's example has taught me enough," Sandor stated. "But you, little bird, are no king."

It occurred to Sansa that he was expressing his pride in her when he bent the knee. Sansa struggled to control her emotion while watching her people kneel in front of her like they had knelt before Robb and then Jon.

For one brief moment, she thought she could see Arya leaning against the wall, hidden by shadows and smiling at her.

"You pledged your swords to Robb and you called him your King. You did the same for Jon. You believed in them. Now I'm asking you to believe in me. I may not wield a sword, but I promise to defend the north till my last breath."

 _The King in the North_ , they had used to chant. This time they cheered in Sansa Stark's honour.

"The Queen in the North."

"The Queen in the North."

"The Queen in the North."

* * *

 _Ten years later…_

After listening to people's requests and issuing appropriate orders to overcome all the problems, Jon rose from his throne. Although it was comfortable and matched to Jon's height, sitting on it for several hours was quite tiring and even boring. Jon headed for the exit, wanting to go to the garden but Jorah Mormont stood in his way.

"Your Grace," Ser Jorah bowed to him. "Everything needed for your journey is already prepared."

"Thank you. Do you happen to know where my son is?"

"I believe he has reading classes with Maester Tarly."

A few years after the Great War, with a little help of Jon, Sam had managed to become a Maester. Then he had settled in the castle as one of King's advisers, as well as the most faithful friend.

"Of course." Jon turned to his Hand. "Lord Tyrion, has any news arrived?"

"Two letters from Queen Sansa, your Grace. One for me and one for you," Tyrion responded, handing him a roll of paper. "My wife, with a great tenderness, says a few words about our children and expresses great happiness at the thought that you and Prince Robb will visit her soon."

Jon headed through the Great Hall, thinking about Winterfell's walls covered with snow, about Sansa's reddish brown hair and warm smile, about the smell of winter and home.

"How are Jaime and Arya?"

"Oh, Sansa's stories show that they cause some problems. Jaime rides a horse all day long. Apparently, he also loves to invent strange stories and believes in everything that someone tells him." Tyrion was talking about his family with so much love when they left the castle. "Arya... well, for a five-year-old child, she is really brave and stubborn. She does not like the fact that she has to fight with a wooden sword, but Sansa says she should be happy for having a chance to fight at all. Maybe I'm not the best person to say it, but it seems to me that my daughter is quite like-"

"-her aunt," Jon finished, a host of memories rushed through his mind. "Aye, it sounds like Arya."

Outside the castle, they were greeted by the roar of Rhaegal, who had apparently just landed, and now he was lowering his head so that the young Targaryen could touch him. Robb climbed on his fingers and gently touched the dragon's scales. At that moment, with his light hair inherited from his mother, he was very similar to her.

"I know what you're thinking about, Jon." Tyrion's soft voice helped him return from the land of memories and pain. "Daenerys is still here."

Jon fought back his tears and took a few steps forward. Then he saw Sam, who was sitting on the stone with a book in his hand and was looking at Robb with a mixture of amusement and concern.

"So, is it how your reading classes look like?" Jon asked to gain their attention.

"Father!" Robb ran to him, and Rhaegal laid his head on the ground, watching them vigilantly. "Do you have it? Do you have my sword?"

The joy of this little creature, his carefree, but also his desire to become someone great, the desire to achieve as much as his parents. All this made Jon look at his son and see not only Daenerys and himself but also someone completely different, who, unlike his family, would have a long and happy life.

Jon took out the sword that Davos had brought him that day. Valerian steel shone in the light of a beautiful day when Robb's hand tightened on the sword's hilt.

Robb smiled slightly, but when he lifted the sword and let its magical light glow, he no longer looked like a child. He was the one about whom the stories had been made, the one whose coming had been announced for centuries. And then Jon messed up his hair and saw his little son again.

"Every sword needs a name," Jon told him.

"Lightbringer," Robb whispered.

"I cannot say I'm surprised. Wait here with uncle Tyrion."

Sam smiled when Jon approached him. Only then Jon noticed his direwolf, who was laying at Sam's feet. He was too old and sick to keep pace with Jon. Most of the time he would just lay in the garden or in Jon's chambers with no more strength.

His fur was still soft and smelled of the old life that Jon and Ghost had once shared. Jon ran a hand over the direwolf's head, wishing to be a young boy again, who had found a family of direwolfs in the woods a long time ago. Back then, with Ghost by his side, everything had been much easier.

"I am afraid that he does not have much time left," Sam admitted in a sad voice. "I'm sorry, Jon."

"It's a miracle that he is still alive." Jon leaned over and left a kiss on Ghost's head. "It's been a long, good life, my friend. You can let go now. I'll be alright."

When Jon looked up, he saw that Sam's eyes were glassy, as if he could barely hold back his tears. Feeling that no words were needed at the moment, Jon took a book from his hand and read the title.

"A _Song of Ice and Fire_ ," he repeated it aloud. "What is your book truly about, Sam?"

"This is a multi-threaded book, possible to be seen in many ways," Sam explained. "Some might say that this is a story of a tragic romance between two people who seemed so different, yet they were connected by blood. Others will say that this is the story of the fight for the throne between powerful Houses. Perhaps the most important thing is the story of a House that never wanted power, yet suffered the most. Maybe it's all about one fight. About a common opponent who always wins."

"Death," Jon said, remembering Beric Dondarrion's words. "Death is the enemy. The first enemy and the last."

While Robb took a seat on the ground and stroked the direwolf's fur, Jon looked up at the sky and saw sunlight breaking through the clouds. It was warmer than usual, snow was long gone, and though his heart was breaking into pieces and crying out of longing, Jon smiled.

Winter was over.

 **The End**


End file.
